30.12.15 - Deu 5 minutos em mim

Hallooo!

Good to speak to you the other day, and hope you all made it back home safely by various methods. The festive season went off here without a hitch - had a lovely Christmas Eve bash at Eduardo and Susy's, complete with lifesize Santa doll, a roasted chester (half chicken, half turkey, half pig), the giving of many a present (including a Star Wars jigsaw, which I was very happy with, and a much sought-after tin of baked beans from Brenna et al), and more pudim than I knew what to do with.

Got very worked up on Christmas Day morning, despite it not being so much of a thing here, and relentlessly serenaded Gaby with "We Three Kings" and "The Twelve Days of Christmas" until she had enough and we went to Ridaut and Adny's for yet more food/pudim, mince pies, the assembling of said Star Wars jigsaw and general holiday decadence and debauchery. The next few days were spent in a haze of Boxing Day football, even more food at Gaby's grandma's and of course actually going to see Star Wars, which received rave reviews from my inner 11-year-old.

Then on Monday morning we hit the road, only to have the road hit back with about four hours of gridlocked traffic on the way to the coast - fortunately I'd stocked Gaby's iPod with over 24 hours of TUNES beforehand (and then tried to pass it off as a Christmas present, to my shame - I also got her singing lessons at the nearby Liverpool Studio, as well as guitar lessons at the nearby Fred Studio), so we were sorted.

Arrived in Ilhabela by ferry around 5:30, checked out our rather cool hotel and pool (with jacuzzi! and coconut trees! and an endless descent to the sea which nearly ended us on the climb back up), got roped into a long conversation with a tedious and slightly racist couple from Curitiba, and headed into town, only to be hit by a downpour of biblical proportions which nearly carried us all out into the bay. Eventually it blew over and we wandered round the old town, eating pizza and ice cream (tiramisu flavour! my new favourite...), watching bats chase fish off a pier and grooving to a Brazilian Bee Gees tribute band in the main square, as you do. All very quaint and colonial, reminded me a bit of Nassau, dahling...

Then yesterday we breakfasted on the deck overlooking the sea and went off in search of beaches (& ho's), locating a rather nice one off the Isle of Goats (Ilha das Cabras) where all sorts of scuba diving and snorkelling was going on. Had a dip, checked out the southern beaches briefly for good measure, had a tour of a pier where Gaby was thinking of having the wedding (looked a bit small and shanty-town-ish though, as the owner's son's friends were staying over and had set up mattresses everywhere), hit the pool and went back into town for more awesome food, weird cover bands and nighttime frolicking. 

Today we're going to check out a waterfall with some of Gaby's friends from school, who also happen to be here, and tomorrow we're off to a swanky beachside NYE party which will either be amazing or awful and Jersey Shore-ish, I haven't decided yet. But it's rather lovely to be here and very relaxing, etc. 

Until the next time, I leave you with a New Year's Eve-themed mini-compilation (https://play.spotify.com/user/freddypowys/playlist/60XnoSPMN12KvFkI5o0tTC), and the above saying, which is a way of saying that you took leave of your senses and flew off the handle for a bit. Will send more updates and photos next week once noses are back to the grindstone, etc.

Speak soon,

Frod

22.12.15 - Um olho no gato, o outro no peixe

Bom dia! Christmas is nearly upon us and I eagerly await the first drifts of snow over Brazil to mark the occasion, although it's curiously sweltering at the moment. 

After a quiet week of work, during which we watched the entire original Star Wars trilogy to get up to speed and wrapped up our Xmas shopping (pun intended, ho ho), we went to Giovanna's ballet recital, which was as fraught with intricate inter-family tension as usual. Although mildly enjoyable and technically accomplished (everyone started dancing to "Thriller" at one point, which mum would have liked), it went on literally forever, so we made a run for it four hours in. It could still be going on, for all I know.

At the weekend we descended on the unoccupied beach condo of Gaby's aunt's workmate - I didn't go to the beach with the others as I stayed behind revising my driving theory like a pro, but we spent a lot of time in the pool and eating platters of steak and shrimp in beachside restaurants. It was Ridaut's birthday on Sunday so I serenaded him with "Sr. Ridaut", to the tune of "With or Without You", and Gaby convinced a realtor to give us a tour of a $R 3m luxury beachside apartment, complete with five bedrooms, four pools and a private rooftop jacuzzi. I shuffled about acting like an eccentric English millionaire, and left saying we'd think about it.

Spent the first morning of my holidays at the DMV doing my driving theory test (which I aced, by the way) and the second preparing a contract that the client suddenly wants drafted, agreed and signed by the 28th, which fills me with apprehension/dread - luckily we had one pre-prepared for just such an eventuality, so hopefully it shouldn't take up too much valuable flopping-about time. Then it's Christmas at Susy and Eduardo's, STAR WARS: THE FORCENING on Boxing Day and Ilhabela on the 28th, which should be triff brill.

I leave you with the titular saying ("one eye on the cat, the other on the fish"), pertaining to people focussing on two things at once, and (hilariously/cruelly) the cross-eyed. We speak at Christmas, yes! 'Til then, happy travels and give our love to the Powys UK Massive.

Ciao for now,

Fred

15.12.15 - A grama do vizinho é sempre mais verde

Halloooo,

Back in SazPaz after an awesome week in Paris - lovely to see you all, eat open fruit flans, etc. 

Having scoured the nearby shopping centre for mince pies and warmed the house with a full run-through of "OK Computer" on guitar and piano on Friday night, I headed home on Saturday afternoon (only realising I was flying from Orly and not Charles de Gaulle halfway through the trip, mercifully), and made it back on Sunday morning after a flight filled with loud children.

Stocked up on pão de queijo (to make up for the distressing lack of galettes) and was immediately whisked across town to a massive pizzeria with a retractable roof for Taynah's circus show, which was rather cool: lots of people spinning precariously from the rafters on hula hoops, trapezes and bits of rope, with an all-you-can-eat buffet immediately afterwards. Most amusing, especially in my sleep-deprived state.

Since then we've been getting back to business for the final push before the Xmas hols; a particularly long neighbourhood-wide power cut derailed our morning yesterday but we just went to the in-laws instead, where I got some work done and made plans to watch the original Star Wars trilogy with Ridaut before seeing the new one (very excited/anxious to see if they hold up now that I'm not 11 anymore). Word has also reached my ear of a weekend getaway to Bruna's house in the mountains (the one that's 90% Christmas decorations), so that should be cool.

I have also made a new compilation for your listening pleasure - I've switched to Spotify since the other site shut down, so let me know if it works - and unearthed another proverb, which is basically "the grass is always greener on the other side", or "at your neighbours". So there's that.

'Til next our paths are rent in twain (or we Skype tomorrow) - ¡adios!

Frod

02.12.15 - Morder a lingua

Hallooo from Vienna (it means nothing to meeeee),

Just a quick note this time, as things are gathering pace and there's something afoot in the wind. Today's the big day and the big cheeses are rolling from the airport for our fake think tank board meeting/formal dinner as we speak, so I'll be brief.

After a merry birthday party for Gaby in the hip Vila Madalena district, featuring lots of (some might say too much) fried provolone, we got home, packed and within hours I was on my way to London, where in my sleep-deprived state I forgot my suitcase on the train to Cambridge and had to scramble madly to track it down again, picking it up the next day in a cupboard at Kings Cross before they detonated it in a controlled explosion. So that was fortunate.

Went to Isleham to see the grandparents, the Cambridge/Norwich Powys' and Dylan the dog, who grows ever larger, had a slap-up roast lamb lunch complete with crumble and the first mince pies of the festive season, and promptly collapsed until I'd acclimatised to the jetlag and complete lack of sunlight.  The next day it was off to London, where I met up briefly with Kika for some Vietnamese crab soup, then early yesterday it was back to Heathrow and onwards to Vienna via plane and limousine (!). Also, one of our cats was castrated, so I got a real-time account of that from Gaby too.

So far everything seems under control - even managed to snag an interview for the Minister with a guy from Reuters - but let's see how things go, eh. The hotel is lovely, I'm sure the city is too although I'm not sure how much of it I'll get to see - the others went off to a Christmas market next door this morning, but muggins here was stuck drafting Press Releases. Saw a few guys in lederhosen at the airport though, so that'll tide me over. Tomorrow should be relatively relaxed, at least until I have to traverse the whole of London again and board the Eurostar for gay Paris. Cannae wait!

Today's proverb means "to bite one's tongue", and I'm told it applies specifically to times when you assert something and have to go back on it later, "eating your words" as it were. So there's that.

Right, I'm off to don my suit and tie, so fingers crossed, and I'll see you all tomorrow night!

Schlaff gut,

Fred

24.11.15 - Todo mundo vê as pingas que eu tomo, mas não os tombos que eu levo

'Sup y'all,

Quite the eventful week we've been having; on Thursday I woke Gaby up with a birthday picnic basket full of gorgeous things (including post-diet chocolate cake, although I ended up eating most of that) and caused a stir on social media with a jaunty One Direction cover in Portuguese (thinking of following it up with a song for Ridaut's birthday next month, to the tune of "With or Without You"...). 

Then there was barely time for a two-hour nap before we dolled ourselves up for the wedding of one of Gaby's schoolfriends in the evening, which featured a crazy Southern-preacher-style oration as thunder crashed overhead and everyone knelt and put veils on their heads (7th-day Adventist tradition, apparently), a full-blown choir and string quartet blasting out Moon River, and an actual music video featuring the lucky couple serenading each other over a photo retrospective. I think we'll tone ours down a bit in comparison, but fun was certainly had by all.

We were up early the next day to load up Ridaut's car with beach gear and two terrified cats, and drive to Ubatuba (a fun place to visit and to say, even). Met up with Claudio, who sends his regards and had rather inconsiderately sold his boat the day before, settled into a beach-house-style chalet by the marina, made pizza for everyone amid relentless banter from Ridaut and Claudio, and hit the beach, where I was battered around by waves and had a generally awesome time of it.

The rest of the weekend was spent piling into the back of Claudio's van (along with surf equipment and small children of unknown origin, saluting passers-by from the open door) and heading to the nearest beach, where I dabbled in "stand-up" (the giant surfboard/rowboat variety, not the comedy), took strolls to other, slightly different beaches, gorged on açai and tried to become slightly less blindingly white. Access to a boat and the remoter islands of the region would have been nice, but you just can't get the staff these days...

We headed back on Sunday night and have since been putting our house in order; the Vienna Event Horizon looms ever larger and I still have some last-minute Christmas shopping to do, but things are shaping up nicely for my European tour. 

This week's proverb translates roughly as "everyone sees me drinking but no one sees me falling over", meaning "everyone sees the fruits of my labour but not the labour itself", which I found particularly apt in this Instagrammed age. I pointed out that in this metaphor, the labour confusingly comes after the fruits (i.e. the falling over comes from a surfeit of drinking), but I think the "falling" in question refers to the general pitfalls of life, which makes sense, I suppose. I don't know, I don't write this stuff...

See you soon! Maybe before the next one of these e-mails - may it serve you well until then. Ubatuba or not t'Ubatuba, that is the question.

Fred

17.11.15 - Geléia de Pérola

Bom dia! 

What a weekend it's been, full of highs, lows, lightning storms and all-you-can-eat brunch. Spent a grim few hours on Friday night online as the news from Paris came through, only to be whisked away for a pre-arranged evening of steak and televised football, which made for an uneasy contrast - especially since by the time we got back, all the electricity in the neighbourhood had gone out, leaving us little option but to mull in the dark before turning in for the night.

The next day, however, brought sunnier tidings - I stole away to the local shops to stock up on goodies for Gaby's picnic-basket of birthday gifts (and Xmas presents for the folks back home), then we went to the Estadio de Morumbi to FINALLY see Pearl Jam (or "Geléia de Pérola" as they were billed by absolutely no one other than me) after half a lifetime of thwarted attempts; and they were well worth the wait, playing for nearly 3 1/2 hours in a massive concrete bowl as thunder and lightning raged overhead.

It was all very intense after the events of the night before - we got heartfelt and only barely comprehensible speeches in Portuguese from Eddie Vedder, a cover of "Imagine" and extra-charged versions of "Alive" and "Keep on Rockin' in the Free World" to round the evening out, not to mention a full on tropical storm about halfway through which only added to the experience. One of the best shows I've been to, fo' sho' - pics are attached!

And then the next day, for an encore, we went to an old-school NY-style restaurant in Itaim, which I'd had my eye on for some time, where I satisfied my craving for pancakes and coffee several times over at the all-you-can-eat buffet, before rolling home for a nap. 

Since then we've been putting the final touches on my impending Eurotrip, plotting a weekend away in Ubatuba aboard Claudio's boat, and shoring up our plans for New Years, which currently involve this place: http://www.ilhabela.com.br/  Gaby has started a hilariously awful-sounding three-day diet ahead of her friends' wedding on Thursday (involving things like seaweed-and-watermelon jelly, and all number of weird concoctions that I want no part of); meanwhile the cats grow ever larger.

Hope you're all keeping well - Jub, let us know how you're getting on when you have a chance! Stay safe and such. Looking forward to seeing you all soon and defiantly drinking champers in gay Paris (everyone seems determined to eat out once they get there...). 

Ciao for now,

Yellow Fredbetter

10.11.15 - Pau pra toda obra

Halloo from Soo Paulooo,

Glad to hear your news, I trust the McAdder clan is keeping well. It has been a week full of thunderstorms, watermelon and much flopping about here, but Saturday was rather fun; having wiped the floor with the competition in the early morning kickabout (I scored a goal! on purpose!) I met up with Gaby after her course and went to see Ridaut give a keynote speech about creativity at an artist's conference. 

We missed the speech itself, and it turned out to be a conference for Christian visual artists which was a bit odd (people kept calling us to prayer and warning us against the evil of sensuality creeping into our work, etc; someone asked me what church I was from and I accidentally told him I was Ridaut's wife's husband), but there was a giant, two-person Nintendo controller and a load of child-size airplanes for some reason, and we got talking to a cool guy who I might be opening a café with (he was talking very fast at this point). 

Otherwise we've been grappling with the whole second-wedding issue, which is all very complicated and would be best summed up over Skype, methinks, but suffice to say we seem to be in agreement now. I've also made what may be the final online playlist (https://play.spotify.com/user/freddypowys/playlist/5zphsag8jjPNVUJLHpwF9C), in this particular format at least, since the Tapely site is closing down in a few weeks; however I will look into other options so you won't have to go back to listening to the Eagles. 

I am intrigued by Jub's cryptic French proverb about amusing carpets - is it an equivalent to filling sausages, Brazilian-style? Can no one just play for time in these countries without indulging in these bizarre and deranged acts? My phrase du jour, "pau pra toda obra", means "stick of all trades" and is used to describe someone who is handy and willing to help in any situation (or just a really useful stick).

Hope all well, and see you shortly!

Phred

04.11.15 - Encher linguiça

Hallooo! 

I am playing catch-up with the slew of update e-mails (all most appreciated by the way), largely because I spent most of yesterday napping. We got up at the crack of dawn as Gaby went off to do her day-long masters entry test/interview (which apparently went well), effectively dooming any afternoon productivity. I eventually curtailed an imaginary rehearsal with Sam and other Almighty Planets members for a really competitive battle-of-the-bands at Carnegie Hall, as I had a Skype call to make, but alas I woke up too late and had to run off to the gym, so apologies for that.

In other news work has been hotting up a fair bit, and I've been getting over a dose of man-flu bestowed upon me as a parting gift by the driving school and its overpowering air con. On Saturday afternoon we went to the Horto Florestal, and a rather nice park adjacent to the WILD BIT of the forest outside São Paulo - we saw capybaras (giant rats, essentially, but strangely adorable: http://bit.ly/1Q29CTv), monkeys, turtles and various tropical birds hanging out, had an epic picnic ft. MANGOES and revised our psychology and driving theory textbooks respectively before heading for home. I also heard tell of a large rock overlooking the whole city just up the road, so that's obviously our next stop...

In the evening we went to São Caetano do Sul en famille, for pizza at Bill and Patricia's flat; Gaby had told me that no one bothers with Hallowe'en here but we saw plenty of costumes on the way, so maybe it's gaining traction (not sure how trick or treating would work though, as everyone lives in gated buildings). Since then it's been mainly raining (on the plain), but we've been keeping busy sizing up options for a daring New Years getaway (frontrunners so far are Ilhabela, which by all accounts is a "beautiful island", and Caldas Novas, a bunch of hot springs in the middle of the country which sounds intriguing...) 

I leave you with another mildly amusing expression - "encher linguiça" - which means "to fill the sausage", and applies to anyone waffling on about unrelated topics to buy themselves some time, or TV shows (soap operas, usually) adding in irrelevant scenes to pad out their running time.

Hope all is well in the middle-class utopia of Valbonne, and the dust-filled quarries of St. Denis. Looking forward to seeing you soon!

Ciao for now,

Frow

27.10.15 - Ajoelhou, tem que rezar

Bom dia! 

'Twas a slow week in the City of Paul - I'm back on the CFC driving theory bandwagon, with one more godforsaken lesson to go this evening. We've abandoned all pretence of learning anything that isn't in the standard textbook, and spent most of yesterday's class discussing the teacher's recent holiday to Buenos Aires, before watching a video on first aid featuring unintentionally hilarious montages of grievous bodily injuries set to stock '80s pop music. Then presumably I go and take a test at the local DMV, and finally move on to brighter and better things.

We also had Susy and Eduardo round for dinner on Wednesday, and Gaby's parents and grandparents round for a Sunday feast, both of which were highly amusing, and went out for a pizza with Andre and Dany, who if you'll recall got hitched (twice) when I was last here in November, and were keen to trade tips on married life. Andre in particular seemed exasperated by the amount of extra toilet paper he's having to buy, so I might have to take him out paintballing or something equally manly to take his mind off it. 

Otherwise it's been business as usual, preparing for our Vienna shindig and sorting out my Eurotrip around it. Let me know if you would like any gorgeous Brazilian things before I get packing... We may be off to Ubatuba this weekend, to charter Claudio's boat to desert islands; however, if the weather doesn't improve we are considering Monte Verde (a small mountain town where São Paulo residents go to feel cold and eat fondue) as a back-up plan.

The titular phrase means "you've knelt so now you've got to pray", meaning basically "you've made your bed so lie in it"; a variant is "se estiver no inferno, abraça o capeta" ("if you're in hell, embrace the devil"), which has been bandied around a lot in CFC, "grin and bear it"-style. Pretty hyperbolic, but I suppose "if you're stuck in an interminable driving lesson designed purely for box-ticking purposes, then embrace the technicalities of roadside safety" doesn't have the same ring to it.

I've also made a follow-up New Orleans mixtape (https://play.spotify.com/user/freddypowys/playlist/6CCdBLI4jZ4ucjysqbHuwr), by popular demand - might make it a running theme and do a different city each time, as long as I secure the necessary funding to do a thorough location recce beforehand.

We shall speak shortly, no doubt - hope all well and see you soon, pantaloon.

Fred

20.10.15 - Mudando de pato pra ganso...

Hallooo! Hope all well in la belle France. 

Our post-US diet plan continues go spectacularly, deliciously wrong, as we visited yet another all-you-can-eat buffet last Thursday - this time an awesome Italian place in the snazzy Moema district, followed by passion fruit ice cream next door and a whistle-stop tour of Ibirapuera Park, São Paulo's only obvious green space (we drove through it, natch, as I had to get back home to work).

Then, after a joyous Friday night spent listening to a new driving instructor (somehow even more redundant and annoying than the last one) waffle on about tinted windows and baby-snatching, I went to play FOOTY and eat SAUSAGES with the LADS on Saturday morning/lunch (literally a sausage-fest, in a bar next to the pitch), and proceeded to nap for the rest of the afternoon. 

Saturday evening was mostly spent queuing on the shady side of Rua Augusta (something of a Paulista tradition, I'm told) and drinking a mysterious jungle brew called catuaba (also a tradition, among hyperactive schoolkids), before getting into a bar for a mutual friend's birthday bash, which was rather fun although unfortunately the advertised bowling and karaoke didn't materialise. 

Since then we've been tackling misc. admin, organising my Eurotrip and putting the cats inside a big cardboard box, which they seem to enjoy. I've been listening to the Late Night Tales of Mr. Nils Frahm and reading "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay", while sampling our New Orleans chocolate tea and cookie dough. 

I also learnt a new saying - "mudando de pato pra ganso" - which is used to completely change the subject in a conversation and translates literally as "changing from duck to goose..." (Incidentally, in English, former AC Milan wünderkind Alexandre Pato is just... Alex Duck).

That is all for the time being, but we shall no doubt yarn further tomorrow, if you're around. Just so you know, I've booked my flights/Eurostar and will get to London on Nov. 29th, and Paris on the evening of Dec. 3rd, going back on the 12th. See you then, speckled hen.

Frod

13.10.15 - Não é a minha praia

Ahhhh, tally-ho, yippety-dip and zing zang spillip! Looking forward to bullying off for the final chukka?

A relatively quiet week in Saint Paulo, as we press our noses to the grindstone once more and watch an unhealthy amount of Breaking Bad, while hormonal cats do battle on our knees. That said, on Sunday we made a quite inspired detour to O Velhão, the ancient and seemingly never-ending network of buffet tables laid out in an old townhouse in the mountains - I understand you went there last year while I was off on our honeymoon, missing a trick.

What a place! Like Gormenghast's decrepit banqueting halls airlifted into the Brazilian forest, but with bicycles hanging precariously from the ceiling and an old man singing "Guantanamera" by the bar/upturned bathtub. And the food! Oh such food. I spent the afternoon wandering pie-eyed from buffet to buffet, sampling various meats, pastas, salads and cheeses, rounded off with a stack of cakes and barrels of flavoured cachaça on tap in the cellar. Having explored the neighbouring shops and cafés I had to be more or less carried home, for some serious hammock time.

That was the definite highlight of the week - elsewhere we had Gaby's girlfriends over for crisis talks after one of them broke up with her boyfriend (who I was going to jam with; oh well...); I just made everyone tea and foccaccia, and otherwise stayed the hell out of the way, but ended up serenading everyone with "Kiss", as you do. Got to keep morale up, after all. Elsewhere we've been looking into New Years' plans, and planning my jolly to Europe in early December - watch this space...

Today's titular expression means "it's not my beach", a wonderfully appealing and geographically appropriate way of saying that something isn't your cup of tea. Maybe Metallica were just trying to tip their hat to Brazilian slang after all. That's yer lot for now, but we shall speak tomorrow, no doubt. Suerte!

Fred

06.10.15 - Casa de ferreiro, espeto de pau

Halloooo, my flood-stricken friends; hope the sun is out again and casualties were kept to a minimum. If our trip to New Orleans has taught me anything, it's that you should always keep an axe in your attic, in case you have to chop your way out to the roof... 

We're back in São Paulo after a delightful and all-too-brief excursion States-side, culminating in a jolly to Fairhope, Alabama for Michael's wedding. Having settled into our quaint hotel (with pool! And automatic pancake machine! And a Burger King literally next door!) and sampled the local byroads, shopping outlets and country music stations (literally all the songs mentioned trucks, ice cold beer and girls), we drove down to Gulf Shores on Wednesday for a swim in the Gulf of Mexico, narrowly avoiding giant dragonflies and divebombing pelicans, then wandered down to the Fairhope pier to watch the sun set over Mobile, a clique of amiable fishermen and more bloody pelicans.

On Thursday morning we went to Oak Hollow Farm to go clay-pigeon shooting with a truck full of shotguns and ammo - I hit three and Gaby got one, so safe to say we'd be the first to go in the event of a zombie apocalypse (we'd been watching a lot of The Walking Dead, set in nearby Georgia, and most of our road trips were spent sizing up roadside churches and houses as suitable places to hide from the undead...), but fun was had, before we had to drive to Pensacola and back to drop off our rental car. I remember thinking that if my house was as huge and picturesque as some of the ones we drove past, I'd probably be a shotgun-wielding redneck too, in case anyone tried to take over my land (the British, probably).

Following a pre-wedding dinner on Thursday, where we got to know the Island crew and gorge on steak and gumbo, I donned my groomsman's waistcoat and pink socks, and went to the Oak Hollow Farm barn where I was put to work mixing vats of custom cocktails for the guests. The service was lovely - featuring poems, tears, and the Star Wars theme tune played by a brass band under a giant tree - then after a photo-shoot in a field full of hay-bales and an afternoon of giant Jenga, rocking chairs and tequila mojitos, we went into the barn for a buffet dinner, a number of recitals and speeches, and a brilliant wedding band from New Orleans who had us dancing in the aisles until the small hours of 10pm. At this point everyone went to cook marshmallows on the campfire, and we went back to the hotel to pack, setting off at 2:30am and arriving in São Paulo at 8pm on Saturday, many in-flight films later.

Since then we've been collecting cats, doing washing, starting a "Breaking Bad" marathon and a severe fruit & veg diet (almost a relief after the onslaught of burgers, Old Fashioneds and Haagen Dazs milkshakes), and passing the time almost disturbingly unfettered by work. We also watched "Boyhood" at the in-laws', which I would recommend if you have three hours to kill at some point.

I have, however, found time to throw together another superlative compilation (https://play.spotify.com/user/freddypowys/playlist/0QqtoQfTE8T60BIbUhGamV), and have another Brazilian proverb for you. "Casa de ferreiro, espeto de pau" literally means "in the house of the blacksmith, the skewers are made of wood", which I'm told roughly translates to "the shoemaker's son always goes barefoot", and has something to do with not being able to apply your professional know-how to your personal problems. 

I have also attached some photos from Fairhope, although Gaby has already posted the best of them on Facebook... Let me know when you're around tomorrow - speak soon!

Frod

29.09.15 - "Deep down Louisiana close to New Orleans..."

Greetings all from Fairhope, Alabama - we're all settled in at the Holiday Inn and about to take in the town and drop by Michael and Kate's villa to say hi, but I thought before that I'd let you know how we got in Nawlins these past few days.

Twas rollocking good fun, and I wish we'd had more time to explore - great food, live music, brass bands everywhere, eccentric locals and a healthy side-helping of voodoo all round. I forgot the PIN for my card so we spent most of our connection in Miami and first hour in town driving around trying to find somewhere that would give us cash up front, so we could at least park the car. Having checked into our enormo-hotel opposite the Superdome, gorged in room service shrimp po'boy  and regained some sort of normality, we hit the town and ended up sucked into the roiling insanity of Bourbon Street on a Saturday night, and were exposed to all sorts of depravity, lewdness, sugary drinks, wrought ironwork, religious dogma, American football chants, marriage processions and antique shops.

The next day we fought our way through the hordes of strange-looking people in the hotel for a hairstylist convention, and went for a cruise along with the Mississippi, on the enormous Creole Queen paddleboat. Over a buffet of jamabalaya, seafood and bread & whiskey pudding, a gruff historian narrated the history of the city until we got to Chalmette Battlefield, where he gave a blow-for-blow account of how Andrew Jackson and a bunch of pirates repelled the evil British by hiding behind a wall of mud until everyone got tired and/or dead. On the way back he went into harrowing detail about the days and weeks after Hurricane Katrina, which was equally awful and inspiring. Then we went shopping for several hours, and dined at Yo Mama's, with the apparently-traditional New Orleans combo of burger AND entire baked potato, followed by Sazerac and jazz, and bed.

On Monday we went back to the waterfront and the French market by Jackson Square for an amazing food tour, led by a jolly old gentleman who'd just had some new knees installed, taking in po'boys, gumbo, jambalaya (fun fact: jambalaya derives from paella, "seasoned" by the locals with ham, or "jambon" - hence the name), beignets with chicory coffee, a muffaletta sandwich by the banks of the river and finally some pralines and Mississippi Mud at the oldest sweet shop in town, coupled with ghost stories, local trivia and a trip to an amazing tea and spice shop. Then after a stop at the tiny Voodoo Museum and a final streetcar downtown, we hopped in the car and drove across a massive bridge down ol' Alabamie way, for more adventures no doubt. I would thoroughly recommend NOLA if you're that way inclined - play us out, Tom Waits: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eSaCQooqVLY

Speak soon,

Frod

PS: pics are on Facebook!

PPS: not sure when I'll be in the hotel to speak tomorrow, but I'll let you know once we have a plan.

22.09.15 - Quem engorda o porco é o olho do dono

Greetings from a brutally hot Sao Paulo - we could take no more on Sunday and joined a small army flocking to the supermarket in search of air conditioners and fans, so at least now we're relatively cool so long as we don't leave the house. Otherwise I spent most of last week getting my wedding trousers sorted out at a far-flung shopping centre (not a euphemism), and embarking on the long and extremely tedious road to completing my driving theory. 

I'm two lessons in and have already lost the huile d'olive: there's probably only about five hours worth of stuff you actually need to know for the test/real life, most of which can be read in the handbook you're given at the start, but for whatever reason they've padded this out into 40 hours, split into nine classes that HAVE to be attended consecutively (well, I've already missed one when we had friends over for stroganoff on Friday night, and will miss the last three as we're travelling next week, but I'll have to make it up next month). The first class was spent learning the various acronyms of state traffic organisms, and the second was spent looking at road signs. FOR FOUR HOURS. 

Our teacher, presumably all too aware of this grotesque, institutionalised time vacuum, tries his best to make things interesting - turning straightforward explanations of lorry customs lanes into rambling, imagined dialogues about papayas stuffed with cocaine, ranting about vehicle tax and putting extremely obvious matters of the highway code to a vote, just for the hell of it - but to no avail. Students fall asleep, car crashes in the road outside are unflinchingly incorporated into the evening's lesson, and we're all fingerprinted and thrown out at 11:10pm sharp, to take our chances with the droves of prostitutes walking the streets (until Gaby comes to pick me up, at least).

In other news, on Saturday night we went to THE big sertanejo concert of the year, at the São Paulo Sambadrome - for seven hours straight of grown men playing accordions, broken up by terrible, totally out-of-place EDM DJs and mobile phone ads, it was surprisingly tolerable, and it turns out most of the songs had seeped into my brain through heavy radio rotation so I was able to sing along and not be exposed as a sertanovice. The stage was pretty impressive (pics attached), plenty of stage invaders and confetti, and we watched the last set of the night from the disabled bay (with chairs!) after Gaby's friend made a fuss. Then it was back home via the 24-hour padaria next door for pizza and bed. Not quite Rock In Rio, going on just up the road, but rather fun nonetheless.

Otherwise work continues apace - Patrick wants to convey a letter to Lula, offering to help manage his party's PR omnishambles, so I'm on the trail of confidantes of his who have yet to be sent to jail or lose all credibility - and we're very much looking forward to heading up North to the Deep South at the weekend, wedding trousers and all. 

Finally, my titular saying of the week translates as "it's the eye of the owner which fattens the pig" - which depending on context means either "things only come good if you keep an eye on them", or "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" (which is much creepier, given recent news from Downing Street).

Right, I'm off to driving school again; maybe today we'll learn what roads are. Speak to you tomorrow!

Frod

15.09.15 - Nem vem que não tem

Hallooo! 

Thanks for your update from Antibes; things certainly sound groovy down there, and I suppose it was only a matter of time before you became fly-by-night buttock graffiti artists, so no surprise there.  As for here, the temperature briefly dropped below 15 degrees at the weekend, so the streets were deserted and people started stockpiling canned food and weapons in anticipation of the coming apocalypse, but otherwise all is well. 

I've done my medical and psych exams for driving (the latter mainly consisted of drawing evenly-spaced lines on a piece of paper), so am cleared to start an intensive theory night course on Thursday which will deprive me of all human contact (and dinner) five nights a week until I'm a walking theory machine. Then maybe they'll let me get in a car.

We've started to have people over to the flat for food and 'appy laughter - this Friday we entertain a friend of Gaby's who is terrified of cats, which should be interesting. And on Saturday we checked out BrewDog's São Paulo outpost, featuring fashionably distressed brewing equipment and pints of stuff called JACK HAMMER and EVIL TWIN. I rather enjoyed it, although the much-touted fish and chips just weren't the same as in Blighty.

Otherwise we continue to prep for our US odyssey; I've made a mean playlist (a sample of which can be found here: https://play.spotify.com/user/freddypowys/playlist/2aB8wtsKfCsh5IfXsGEakO), Eric has recommended I try turtle soup and alligator po'boys in New Orleans, Jack has chipped in with some live music tips, we're signed up to go shooting in Alabama on the day before the wedding, that kind of thing. Gaby wants to rent a convertible (another long-standing ambition of hers), but options are thin on the ground and we probably won't survive without some kind of air con anyway. 

My phrase of the week is from the Wilson Simonal song of the same name (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_qknpPA5JA); it basically means "don't even think about it", but I'll leave the details to this rather wonderful translation: http://lyricstranslate.com/en/nem-vem-que-nao-tem-no-way.html

Looking forward to chatting at some point tomorrow,

Yours sincerely,

Fredders

02.09.15 - Jogar verde pra colher maduro

What ho, back in Blighty wot wot? Couldn't stand the pace of the Cote d'Azur? 

All well in SazPaz; I've been ambling around a fair bit, including a stroll up the Avenida Paulista while Gaby got her eyebrows plaited (or something), where I found an awesome bookshop, featuring a giant suspended wooden dragon and a reading area filled with beanbags. Apparently it's quite famous, and I unwittingly wandered into several high-profile books signings while I was there. I stocked up on local guide books - including one called "Comida de Ogra", about all the places in town where you can "eat like an ogre" - and plan to put my insider knowledge to good use in the near future.

Then on Saturday morning we went up into the mountains for the wedding of one of Gaby's friends, which took place by a lake with rose petals and koi carp and a string quartet, and was so excruciatingly lovely that Gaby now wants one of her own, never mind that we're already married (NB: there being no small children in her family to be ring-bearers, she has asked that we import/people-traffick Siobel, Roisin and/or Ossian to do the job). 

Proceeded to drink many a caipirinha, meet up with the stag do survivors, who took to calling me "Harry" all day (in reference to either Prince Harry, or Harry Potter, or both), and feast on meat and cake at great length. At one point the bride and groom burst into an elaborate dance routine, heralding the boogie section of the party, and everyone dispersed around 6 after a rousing live-band version of "Smoke on the Water", to stagger home and eat leftovers. Twas most fun - photos to follow, no doubt.

The next day we went en famille to an amazing ex-church, decked out with brigadeiro displays, photo montages and soundsystems, for a surprise birthday party thrown by Susy et al for Gaby's grandma. By the fifth course all the food and drink started to blur together, but I remember it being rather awesome. 

We're having a dinner here tomorrow for Adny's birthday, and also to celebrate Gaby getting the job (which, by the way, means we're going to the States and coming back slightly earlier than planned, and spending the last weekend of September in New Orleans, eating oysters and shouting "STELLAAA" into random windows, before moving on to Alabama...); I hope to get properly signed up with the Sao Paulo DMV (the worst place on earth) at the third time of asking on Friday so I can get on with learning to drive; and we're already planning our next culinary raid of the city next weekend. There will be brunch.

My titular phrase of the week was suggested by Gaby, and translates roughly as "sowing green to reap mature", meaning to ask someone questions in a hinting kind of way, in order to get confirmation of something you already suspect. I still don't entirely understand the concept, even after numerous examples, but apparently it's fairly common here, so make of it what you will.

Thus concludes my weekly missive; let us chat tomorrow, and celebrate with the slaughtering of a hound. 

Love,

Fre(ebir)d

25.08.15 - Raro como cabeça de bacalhau

Tally ho to one and all! I trust your merry journey down ol' South of France-ways is going well, and await news of your joyful Antibes homecoming in due course. 

All well here. On Friday I invited myself along to the bachelor party of a lovely man called Andre, who's marrying a friend of Gaby's on Saturday, and whose Las Vegas-themed bridal shower we attended a few weeks back. 

Things started inauspiciously enough with pre-nightclub drinks in a petrol station forecourt (apparently something of a tradition among cash-strapped young Paulistanos), but I soon ingratiated myself with the various MEN in attendance thanks to my self-effacing Englishness, before entering Villa Mix, apparently rather a big deal in SP social circles. Spent the evening in a roped-off "lounge" area boogying on down to the latest sertanejo hits, before Gaby took leave of the hen-do going on concurrently down the road and whisked me off for burgers at 5am.

Saturday was somewhat of a write-off, given I had to be up at 10 to do some pesky work and never fully recovered; and on Sunday Gaby and I went to the posh part of town, to stroll along the Rua Oscar Freire (where all the cool clothes shops and art galleries open, and more importantly where all the best restaurants are) and eat mounds of pasta and ice cream. I plan to return and coincide our next trip with the all-you-can-eat brunch buffet that I scoped out online beforehand. In other news Gaby has a rather promising job interview this afternoon, we're having a birthday dinner for her grandma this evening, and of course there's this wedding at the weekend. 

You've probably got a lot on, so I'll leave you with the titular titbit of Portuguese slang: "raro como cabeça de bacalhau" / "rarer than a cod's head". The reasoning being that cod is always displayed without its head in supermarkets, so cod's heads are considered the height of rarity. The same apparently goes for "raro como um enterro de anão", or "rarer than a a dwarf's funeral" - this might just be Ridaut winding me up, although now I think about it I have never seen a dwarf's funeral, so he may be onto something...

I write soon! We speak, yes? You work, men. 

A plus, hipoténuse xx

Frod

18.08.15 - Jogar merda no ventilador

Hallooo from the bleak, 30-degree Brazilian midwinter. 

Since I last wrote, we've been down on the street (and not just any street - the Avenida Paulista no less) protesting, banging on pots and pans, and calling for Dilma's head; not literally, of course... I've never seen so many people dressed in yellow, or warning against the rise of communism, in one place. I didn't pick up on many of the marching song lyrics, but a particularly vivid one went "Pé na bunda dela, por que Brasil não é Venezuela" ("a foot up her backside, because Brazil isn't Venezuela").

Afterwards we repaired to a nearby bistro for a "Bauru" - an amazing traditional sandwich of roast beef, pickles and melted cheese - which was pretty great too. That brings me onto my next project, a bilingual review site for São Paulo bars and restaurants which I shall write, translate, build, edit and promote all by myself, and have started to contribute to at a rate of one review a day (starting with the places I've actually been to, and moving on to imaginary reviews at a later date). 

Once it goes live, the aim is to become a viral sensation among native and tourist restaurant connoisseurs alike, thus adding to my my cred and increasing the likelihood of getting invited to review more restaurants. It'll be a long, hard road, but the possibility of free meals at the end is a powerful incentive indeed.

Otherwise things have been pottering along nicely - Bolo grows ever more deranged, has scythed his way through a phone charger and a pair of headphones to date, and spends every waking hour attacking Diva in increasingly inventive ways (she doesn't seem to mind much). And Gaby is off to a psychologist convention this week, to assess the current shrink hivemind and hand out business cards.

Finally, Fred's Brazilian saying of the week: "jogar merda no ventilador" means to "Throw sh*t in the fan", but is only loosely connected to the similar English expression, meaning instead to say something at a critical juncture in a heated situation which somehow makes everything worse. Fun to know, and to say even.

That will be all; we speak tomorrow and I give Jub the house Skype tour, yes?

Yes.

Fred 

11.08.15 - Você me pega o pé

Hallooo! Hope all well in Cambridge and/or the Spanish brush. 

Casa Powys is nearly complete, with the recent addition of somewhere to sit, and a second (and hopefully final) cat, Bolo, who is tiny and ginger and possibly evil incarnate. He's already bullying Diva, who's twice his size, is gleefully clawing my knees as we speak, and chases his rope around the house with the steely-eyed determination of Yul Brenner in Westworld, but I'm sure there's a heart somewhere beneath his megalomaniac demeanour. Plus he's only about three months old, so probably doesn't realise the chaos and despair he's wreaking.

(Fred's Portuguese parenthèse du jour: "you're getting on my nerves" is "você me pega o pé", or "you're grabbing my foot" - Bolo often does so literally and figuratively.)

On Sunday we went to Guarujá for Father's Day merriment - Gaby's uncle had borrowed a workmate's flat for the weekend, located in an amazing ocean-front complex built into the cliffs, that reminded me of a warmer, more cheerful Overlook Hotel from "The Shining" - almost completely empty in the off-season, but still very warm and picturesque (photos to follow!). We celebrated with the ceremonial grilling of meat and pineapple, and a trip into town for buckets of ice cream, before heading back to the tune of ABBA's Greatest Hits.

Otherwise we've been brushing up the flat and are just about ready to have people over; went for fondue at a friend of a friend's and made plans to JAM with a fellow guitarist; watched "Inside Out" at the cinema, which is pretty great (incidentally, I assume you've all seen this?: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09nTwccQTUA); and had a gruelling two-hour kickabout with Ridaut and co. on Thursday night, culminating unexpectedly in a man-of-the-match performance by me in goal (I was too tired to flinch from incoming shots by that point, so ended up saving a few instead). 

Last but not least - I make you compilation! Under my alter-ego, DJ Cowpig (inspired by some intriguing packaging I saw while shopping for meat the other day), and featuring all the songs the cool kids are listening to nowadays: https://play.spotify.com/user/freddypowys/playlist/6YYwyyMHrLiqrtuwMMjmFP

Hope the Camino is going well and you're near spiritual enlightenment, or at least drinking water; and that the move to the Côte is coming along nicely. We speak tomorrow, yes? Yes.

Lots of like,

Fred

21.07.15 - Que bobagem

Helloooo, and may I say what a pleasure it was to see you during my UK (Slight Return) tour last week.   

A lot has been going on since I got back, as we've been literally getting our house in order - internet was installed today so I can give you a Skype tour at the usual time tomorrow should you so desire, but bare in mind it's still very much a work in progress. As I type, Adny and Gaby are hammering nails into our front door and a paint technician is telling Ridaut how to paint the wall properly.

We've got things like a fridge and a bed locked down, but our sofa is being assembled in the diamond mines of southern Brazil (or something) and won't be ready for another month, so we've just been slumping on an old mattress in the living room instead. We have a dining table, but no chairs, and a donated washing machine with a hole in the bottom - that kind of thing. I find it appealing in a ramshackle kind of way, and try to spend most of my time out of harm's way in a hammock. 

As previously mentioned we also now have a car, and put it to good use on Sunday driving to Embu das Artes, a small village outside Sao Paulo seemingly built entirely of arts & crafts - I've uploaded some pics (https://plus.google.com/117879613426586781742/posts/LRXeupXtNfj) and will expand our plan to retire the entire family there tomorrow - and the all-you-can-eat steakhouse I visited (and proposed to Gaby at) during my first trip here, which I was very excited about and did not disappoint. 

The day before I acquitted myself reasonably well at the footy, even scoring a goal (on purpose!), and then went on to the bridal shower of one of Gaby's friends (they're unisex here, before you ask; more of a "happy-couple shower") which was Las Vegas-themed and led to us becoming dangerously addicted to gambling on roulette with fake chips. I spent the evening telling everyone about my casino-themed 10th birthday party, and how I was basically way ahead of the curve back then.

In other new work has picked up a bit - we've finally managed to open a bank account for our sham think tank, which is just as well since it's the reason I was dragged back to London in the first place - and I've finally been issued with my RNE and CPF; basically, two numbers which allow me to do things like open a bank account and get healthcare. Which is nice.

I have marked my triumphant return by assembling a compilation of the finest Brazilian talents (https://play.spotify.com/user/freddypowys/playlist/5yEgsSy5XMUcqN1d85QqO9); I've tried to make it representative of what people here actually listen to, rather than my earlier, gringo-skewed effort. As for Fred's phrase of the week, one of the titles ("Bobagem") means "Rubbish", as in "Que bobagem!" / "What a load of rubbish!". Which I have found to be quite useful.

That is all. Speak soon!

Frodge