shaunism

Tuesday, 25 November 2014

[The Life of Shaun #502] São Paulo

I decided a couple years ago that, before I turned 40, I wanted to visit South America, thereby visiting all the inhabited continents before middle age (or the "old of the young", I am told). It seemed somehow fitting of my wanderlust to close that circle, and at the same time of recognising the milestone.

Russ joined me for the first stop, São Paulo, Brazil's economic and cultural powerhouse. The city is massive, the centre of a conurbation of 28m people, with a further 14m in the surrounding state, accounting for fully 1/3rd of Brazil's GDP. And yet, outside the recent World Cup matches hosted in its stadium, you rarely hear about it, as it's so in the shadow of its flamboyant neighbour to the Northeast, Rio de Janeiro.

Glancing at pictures of the cities, it's easy to see why; São Paulo has none of the topography or beaches that make Rio so dazzling. However, this concrete jungle is a much more manageable and nuanced collection of neighbourhoods than its profile belies. Spread out across rivers and rolling hills, you casually and imperceptibly slip between different areas and moods of the city, each of which feels complete and content.

One facet of Brazil in general, and São Paulo in particular, that you never hear the end of is crime. Brazil is a middle-income country, with an outward veneer of Western prosperity. Underneath, though, lies third-world inequality, and the desperation that brings. My guide book suggested 'accept the fact that you might get mugged, and never carry more with you than you need', couching the suggestion in terms of empathy towards Brazil's poorest. Everyone we met in São Paulo told us to be careful, especially in the centre where we were staying. There are outward signs of this reality everywhere: nearly every home and block of flats was surrounded by gates, even in the exclusive areas, and there are security guards everywhere. No cashpoints are open past 10:00pm to guard against theft, and the centre was completely shuttered on Sunday.

But Russ and I had no problems, be it the luck of the draw, or the inadvertent wisdom of our door-to-taxi-to-door travelling habit. Each night we explored a new area, trying a new restaurant for me to fail in finding vegetarian food, followed by several new bars, nearly all of which we enjoyed. The people were happy and friendly, and the city carried off a really good vibe. Throw in heaps of modernist architecture, and I was quite smitten. São Paulo is, I think, a city that deserves a little bit of Rio's famous spotlight.

Flying into São Paulo, the city spreads out endlessly in all directions.

The skyline of São Paulo (from Wikipedia).

We stayed in a modernist building right on the central Praça da República.

With a swooningly appropriate modernist interior.

Central São Paulo lay outside our balcony.

The streets of central São Paulo are gritty with the bustle of a megacity.

The city has more than tripled in size since 1960, and it shows with only the occasional pre-modernist structure poking through.

Sao Paulo's Niemeyer icon, the Edifício Copan (at right), was unfortunately shrouded for maintenance, but its elegant silhouette was still impressive.

Though modernist architecture prevails in the centre, the city's architecture is varied, including an Art Deco football stadium.

Russ and I overlooking a surprisingly green São Paulo from its highest hill.

The city is one of urban art; you see it everywhere.

And the classic kind, too, such as at the Brazilian Museum of Sculpture, a Brutalist dream. (I once read a travel article about São Paulo where, after telling a Brazilian woman he was going to the city rather than Rio, she exclaimed "You must be an artist!")

Like many other financial centres, as the city has grown and wealth has concentrated within it, São Paulo has started developing a second business cluster, with all the glass and glimmer of recent decades.

Leaving the area over the city's newest bridge reveals yet another view of the endless city.

São Paulo has the largest Japanese population outside Japan, numbering almost 1.5m, and a very large Japantown to show for it.

Avenida Paulista, the traditional spine of the city.

You can't escape the crush of the city in São Paulo, where even bars and restaurants clamour for space many floors up in highrises.

But once inside, the views are often stunning!

Shaun H. Coley ~ Kentish Town ~ Camden ~ London NW5 ~ UK ~ shaunism.blogspot.com

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Tuesday, 21 October 2014

[The Life of Shaun #501] On the move

It's been a whirlwind few weeks. I left my home of more than six years in London's East End for a stab at life in Kentish Town, in the bucolic North of London. But that was not to come until after a stay in Poplar with Mary Keany, followed by my first big holiday of the year.

Through the whole kerfuffle that moving turned out to be, Marco and I were officially homeless for a month between old and new flats. Jan took on Marco, and I fell under the care of Mary Keany, who also left Shadwell the same day to a bigger, newer flat. She wined and dined me until she flew off in upper class to South Africa for work, and then I departed for India.

My third trip to the subcontinent was less about exploring and more about relaxing. With work frenetic, the move, homelessness, I wanted one of those lie-on-the-beach-with-cocktails-and-massages kind of holidays. I still had a night in my beloved Mumbai coming in and going out, but most of the week was spent in the tourist haven of Goa.

There was just one problem: Goa was closed. I knew I was there off-season, but I expected that to mean that I had fewer choices, not next to none. In Panaji, the state capital, everything was open, but all the glossy images you see of Goa are along the beaches North and South of the city.

One thing I've learned in my travels is you can't be married to your plans, and I took this to heart. I spent one night in the lovely beachside hotel. But, everything being a 45-minute taxi ride away, I cut it short and returned to the capital, where I could at least get massages and dinner, to finish out my stay.

It turned out to be a really enjoyable stay. Panaji has a lot of character (outside its business core), is very manageable, has plenty of good restaurants and a top-rate massage parlour. I ate well, relaxed, and learned the pleasant lesson that refexology massages two days in a row is suffient, I don't need the third.

Rested and restored, I had one more night in Mumbai, and then it was off to New York for Natasha's 40th birthday weekend. She had, of course, a fabulous weekend planned: high-end seafood Friday, bohemian Brooklyn bar with beer cheese Saturday. With those, and my standard Sunday lunch at Pongsri Thai on Sunday, I saw most of my New York friends on my breeze through town.

But Monday morning it was time to come back to London, and to my new flat. Marco kindly unpacked all the common property, and ensured that I had a made-up bed to come home to. We're still settling in and figuring out the storage situation (the flat's about the same size as the last but, being a conversion, is very short on storage), but I am loving the area, and the commute's not too bad.

Next on the docket is my birthday extravaganza, my first trip to South America: São Paulo, Brasilia, Rio de Janeiro and Buenos Aires. If I have to turn 25, I'm going to enjoy it!

Cheers,

Shaun

Mumbai has a schnazzy new world-class airport. It's somehow a little less exciting, after a long flight, stepping into an airport that could be in any Western capital. You don't really feel like you're all that far from home. I missed the chaos and shambles that first greeted me.

My view - for one day only.

Agreeable, and open-for-business, Panaji.

It was ass hot in Goa. When, from the shaded terrace of my hotel, I saw Indians using umbrellas to block the sun, I knew it was bad. I had no shame in mimicking them with portable shade.

Old Goa, the original colonial capital, is about fifteen minutes inland, and is peppered with hadsome piles.

I couldn't help but wonder: if they had spent the money on improving the locals' lives, rather than yet another grand cathedral, would the Portuguese have lasted a bit longer in India?

Goan wisdom.

At the mall in Panaji, the runner-up choice for my birthday plans.

While staying with Rachel in Hoboken, I visited my alma mater, Stevens Institute of Technology. I don't think I've been there since I graduated. I have to say, it's a really great little campus. And the view across the way can't be beat. It's so good, I saw it twice!

Rachel and I giving Todd the good lovin' in Brooklyn.

Shaun H. Coley ~ Kentish Town ~ Camden ~ London NW5 ~ UK ~ shaunism.blogspot.com

Saturday, 20 September 2014

[The Life of Shaun #500] Go North!

Towards the start of this year, I asked my flatmate, Marco, what he thought about trying out a new neighbourhood. I'd been living in my flat in Shadwell for almost six years (and he five) by then. Other than my adolescent home, it's the longest I've ever lived at one address. I love Shadwell, and absolutely love my flat, but my feet were getting itchy to walk new pavements; I was ready for period housing, nearby pubs I enjoy and dining that stretched beyond my (large, but not insatiable) appetite for curry. Marco was ready for a change, too, so off into London's rental market we boldly went*.

The first area we looked was Clapham, in South London, where I spent many enjoyable nights out when I first moved here, and where the housing stock is quintessential London. I quickly learned that, for our budget, we weren't going to get nearly the space we had in Shadwell, would have to put up with carpeting throughout, wildly unequal bedrooms, and/or endure a long walk to the tube. I also realised that my peak Clapham years are about five years behind me, and so we moved on.

Next was Bethnal Green, in the East, but more the hip East End than just-off-the-boat immigrant East End. This evolved into a months-long rollercoaster of possibility, which was tiring, but it didn't work out.

Onward and upward (Northward, to be precise)! While Marco was on holiday in Berlin a few weeks ago, I decided to look in another favoured area, Kentish Town in North London. I saw one flat, which was tiny and dreary, and then a second that was at the top budget, so was of course the first flat I really liked and could imagine living in. I sent Marco to have a look when he got back from Berlin, and he liked it, too. So I put in an offer, it was accepted, and today we signed the lease. Marco will be moving in on the 30th; I, conveniently, will be on holiday, and will join him on my return.

So, a new neighbourhood and a new London chapter - very excited!

Cheers,

Shaun

*I'm not ready to sell my place and give up my view forever, so I decided to rent out my flat and rent somewhere new before making any big decisions or commitments.

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Sunday, 3 August 2014

[The Life of Shaun #499] Building a Better Brum

Birmingham, or Brum, as it is affectionately called, is the UK's second city (although Greater Manchester/Liverpool, which are contiguous, have more people when taken collectively - but they would never countenance being lumped together). It is most well know for being the second city, a (wrongly, IMHO) derided accent, for having ripped up much of its historic centre to build ring roads and motorways in a post-war bid to become Britain's most modern city, and the Bullring shopping centre. When you tell people you are visiting Birmingham, they are not struck with envy. Most pull a sour face and ask why; at best they are at a loss to say anything about the city. Despite a metropolitan population of 3.7m, Birmingham goes pretty much unnoticed by the rest of the UK, and certainly by Londoners.

Undaunted (or perhaps enticed), my flatmate Marco and I took a £15 return trip last weekend to see what the lack of fuss was about. What we found was, surprisingly, a city with much to offer. Tired of its maligned reputation and losing business, talent and its young to London and Manchester, Birmingham has been working over the past decade or two to undo some of the damage it inflicted upon itself in the 50s, 60s and 70s.

Like all UK cities other than London, Birmingham has a distinct and sole city centre, in and around which most of the redevelopment is occurring. The most famous of these schemes is the Bullring Shopping Centre, and specifically its fantastic, blobistic Selfridges. This building deservedly became an instant icon when it was opened, and is Birmigham's boldest effort to reinvent itself.

Bullring to the right, the Rotunda (an office block turned into flats) at the left.

Bullring up close.

The original post-war Bull Ring* redevelopment.

I never saw Brum before the new Bullring, but its city centre is now bustling and prosperous, and the charming streets around it full and lively.

Another signature development is the Library of Birmingham, which is certainly eye-catching, if a bit gauche. However, any misgivings one might have from the outside, they're sure to be won over on the inside. Recognising the digital age in which it was built, the architects have turned the library into a destination more than a store of books. With meeting rooms, rooftop gardens, and cavernous spaces, it is a place to congregate, work and study, and it was being used enthusiastically when we visited.

The library faces a handsome new square.

The square is also home to Birmingham's Symphony Hall.

Marco in the rooftop "Secret Garden".

The library stands just North of a series of canals ("More canals than Venice", you will read again and again) that were thankfully neglected by the post-war city planners and still exist today absent unforgiving buildings and, mostly, of giant roadworks. They are now becoming fashionable places to walk and socialise, and are lined with outdoor restaurants, bars, cafés and live music stands. And despite the post-war planners' efforts, quite a lot of original - or at least original-looking - and nice modern architecture survive around the city.

One of the canals. (A plug for Ju Ju's, where we had an awesome canalside lunch.)

City centre street.

Lovely Art Neuveau(ish?) building.

The beautiful law courts also survived the wrecking ball.

Memorial to those killed and injured in the WWII air raids.

However, throughout the city, surrounding the signature developments and classically charming architecture, the original brutalist redevelopment that gave Birmingham its sullied reputation dominates the city. Some of it is quite striking today, but much of it is uninspired and won't be missed once gone.

Brum is a multicultural city with large South Asian and Afro-Carribean communities, visible across the city...

...including shop signs making big promises...

...and food kiosks divided into culturally sensitive categories.

I was more impressed with Brum than I thought I would be. The city has a lot of good going on, the people were friendly, the nightlife fun and varied (and mostly absent of hen parties). It still has some work to do, though, if it is to compete with London or, more realistically, Manchester. The city "centre" is more sprawling and unwalkable than Manchester's, and the redevelopment points are disjointed and separated by wide, fume-filled roads, pedestrian-unfriendly roundabouts and dual carriageways, making it a city that's still beholden to the car. It's going to take some effort to pull it all together into a cohesive, urban whole that can attract secondary business and the creative set the way Manchester has, but it certainly doesn't deserve the dire reputation it has. That Birmingham was buried beneath the rubble of the original Bull Ring.

*For the word nerds, Bull Ring refers to the square and also the original shopping centre; the newer incarnation was fashioned as Bullring, an etymological shift that caused much consternation and tut-tutting amongst certain sects.

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Saturday, 19 April 2014

[The Life of Shaun #498] The Highlander

It's an experience I am glad to have had.

Last weekend, I checked off a few far-flung items from my UK list: Loch Ness, Thurso and John O'Groats. Loch Ness and its monster are something every American hears about from childhood, so it's on the list as it's one of those things you just do as a tourist in Scotland.

John O'Groats is also fairly popular with Brits - especially the crazy cycling kind - as it is one terminus of the end-to-end journey across Britain, from Land's End in the Southwest, to John O'Groats in the Northeast.

Thurso is more obscure. Many British people don't even know where it is, and most who do have never been and will never go. It sneaked into my travel itinerary as I've been curious about it ever since reading Bill Bryson's Notes From a Small Island. I have a longstanding interest in these edge-of-the-world towns, and Thurso is certainly one of those. In the book, Bryson ends his picture of Thurso with a story about how the ladies of the town wake early each Saturday to catch a train down to Inverness, where they do their shopping, and then head back that night. It seems so laborious to modern sensibilities, but what he notices is how happily expectant and content they all seem. It sounds so quirky and charming, so I wanted to see this place for myself.

The first stop on most trips to the Scottish Highlands is Inverness, the capital of the Highlands, and as close as you get to a city in those parts. It's pleasant enough: a compact city centre, with few glaring scars from the 70s, and a castle, all straddling the River Ness between rolling hills. There were few noticeable chains, but the town's heart is dominated by a giant ill-thought shopping centre. Still, the streets were lively, and there are enough restaurants and bars to pass a day, which is important as the wind never stops blowing in the Highlands, so you need sufficient indoor diversions to take shelter in.

The River Ness runs through the centre of town.

The riverside from the castle.

Handsome city-centre blocks.

Several small islands dot the river just West of the centre, which they have weaved together with bridges and paths.

I travelled all the way to Inverness to see my first

desert bighorn sheep

, the state animal of Nevada.

Good-bye double rainbows from Inverness.

The next day, being a carless tourist in a sparsely populated region, I took a package boat-castle-bus Loch Ness tour for my shot at spotting Nessie. The loch is huge; stretching far out in front of you, there's no way to take it all in at once. The waters are deep and broody, it's squeezed between lush hills on both sides, and dotted with the occasional village, stately home or ruin, and the Highland winds churn the water, causing a bumpy ride, and occasionally throwing up a sheet of water, dowsing unsuspecting tourists.

On deck, battling the winds.

The ship's wake trails off into the distance.

Ruins of the castle along the shore.

This is why no one ever spots Nessie - she's hanging out in the much more agreeable sea monster spa in a nearby village.

The following morning was the four-hour train ride through the Highlands, which was actually quite beautiful. Two years ago, I went to Norway and took the Bergen Railway, connecting Oslo to Bergen, which calls itself "Europe's greatest railway". However, I thought this ride was much more impressive, and certainly more varied. And it has the added advantage of not bankrupting you should you decide to have a drink along the way.

Quaint patriotic platform at Invergordon.

The tracks literally run just a few metres from the sea along long stretches of the journey.

And once you get inland, the scenery is changing and beautiful.

At the end of the ride, you arrive in Thurso, an outpost of nine thousand or so windburnt hearty souls at the edge of the British mainland. The footprint of the town is actually larger than you'd expect of such a small population, as it has a proper city core and substantial residential neighbourhoods stretching out in all directions. Its centre is walkable and austere, with monolithic lowrise grey buildings, bracing against the ceaseless winds, which got stronger the farther North I went.

Thurso is one if the oddest towns I've been to in Britain. I've never been anywhere with streets that were so devoid of both people and cars - and I have been to some pretty desolate places. You walk around the town, and it feels as if you pretty much have it to yourself. However, go into a pub or a restaurant, and it is likely to be lively and full of happy, chattering patrons. I don't know how they get from place to place without being seen.

I had the most pleasant part of they journey in Thurso, at a very unexpectedly lovely dinner at Le Bistro, an unassuming restaurant in the city centre. After popping into several nearby venues, I decided to have dinner here based on a positive initial impression and vegetarian options that extended past the standard fare. The venue is cozy and warm, the staff were authentically friendly, and the food interesting, honest and flavourful, the wine was fantastic, and none of it pretentious. It's everything a restaurant should be, and to find it at the edge of world made it all the more special. I was happy and smitten, à la Bryson, and left Thurso with a literal and proverbial good taste in my mouth.

Central Thurso, with a veritable traffic jam; Le Bistro on the left.

Even up here, you're never far away from a curry house.

Lots of rules for one bathroom.

And finally to John O'Groats - the end of the line. There's not much there - a signpost, so you know you've made it, and various tourist cafes and shops, whose trade depends on bored tourists with an hour gap between busses and people waiting on the passenger ferry to the Orkney and Shetland Islands. Which is just as well - with the worst wind of the trip, there was no desire to stay for more than the obligatory photo.

And there I am!

The local pub keeps toys on hand so children don't get bored while their parents drink. How thoughtful those Scots are!

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