SÃO PAULO
São Paulo is not a pretty city -- not the parts I saw and I was staying in the popular Bela Vista area just off the so-called trendy Avenida Paulista. There are a few interesting spots on the tourist map, and if there are others that I missed it's intriguing that when I am in other foreign cities if there's something lovely to see it's rather pervasive and doesn't require a lot of looking around. I never had a problem finding the wonders of London, Paris, Rome, Madrid, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Lisbon, San Francisco, New Orleans or Buenos Aires just to name a few of the world-class cities to which I've traveled.
However, in São Paulo, the streets are not well maintained and are mostly dreary, the buildings are generally quite ordinary
and the shops are not so exciting. In the center of Paulista it was strewn with little convenience stores and mini-malls, because, as I was later told, Brazil doesn't have major department stores. The hotels were off the main drag -- almost out of sight, even many of the more luxurious kind.
I'm not saying there is nothing cultural going on, but there's not a whole lot worth seeing or if there is it isn't easy to find. If you have to have a local take your hand or pay a taxi driver to find it, it doesn't appear that the city has spent much thought or time to dress itself up to be the cosmopolitan city and business center of Brazil that it is cracked up to be.
Now, to be sure, São Paulo is not known as a tourist center, as are other major cities around the world, including its regional neighbor Rio de Janeiro. And there's a reason, because while it may be livable if you have your home in the right neighborhood, the nightlife that I saw in the Bela Vista/Paulista area, billed as one of the more attractive spots in the tourist guides, most people were hanging around on Friday night at little corner bars and small food shops.
Yes, there's the Teatro Municipal, the Mosteiro de São Bento Monastery not far from that and the area just around it, but
to my mind those few things and a bit more are not enough to be worth the hassle of getting there and the cost of a hotel.
The security in the city appeared pretty good, and there were policemen stationed in little kiosks on almost every corner of
the main avenues. However, these guys are not Columbo and most apparently don't speak any English, nor do they appear
to be very bright. I mean, even using my best Marcel Marceau techniques, I couldn't get one of these cops to deal with a bum who was following me for quite awhile and who strangely stood there quite cooperatively as I performed my pantomime for
the policeman, demonstrating how the misanthrope wouldn't leave me alone.
Even as the panhandler made mocking gestures towards me, the policeman, unless he was an idiot, must have known why
I was outraged, yet he didn't do a thing. Didn't raise a dismissive finger at the guy, but instead kept staring at me like a
dog does when you point to a TV set for it to watch. Instead of turning to the TV, it keeps looking at you. So much for
São Paulo law enforcement.
The general infrastructure is quite good. Most of the subway lines are operational and cheap, though the locals -- especially
in the professions -- frown on using them and urged me to take a cab. But I researched the Metro lines and easily made my way to the two film and television meetings I'd prearranged in central locations without difficulty and without spending a lot of time or wasting too many Brazilian Reals.
However, if you're going somewhere a little out of the way, it might be a different story. I was invited to the São Paulo Film Festival opening night gala in a neighborhood known as Agua Branca. While getting ready in my hotel, I glanced at my
subway map and noticed there was an Agua Branca station on a suburban line, only a few stops from a connecting subway station. I figured if I took the train there I'd then be in close proximity to the party and planned to take a taxi the rest of the way (fully expecting a taxi to be readily available at the commuter train station) and would save the lion's share of the taxi fare if
I'd taken the cab all the way from my hotel.
The subway trip started off well -- it was just a couple of stops and then a connection to another subway line, where a few
more stops later I would catch the free connection to the suburban train. However, when I transferred from the subway line
to the suburban train, as I bade farewell to the nice Brazilian guy who escorted me to where I needed to go, I almost fell into
a gaping hole, because the platform was about a foot or so from the train door. In doing so, I wrenched my back and found
my new umbrella slip from my hands onto the tracks.
Suddenly the doors to the train closed and my mind veered from the loss of my K-Mart purchased $10 umbrella to the faint feelings that had come over me, which someone in the crowded train car must have noticed, because I was immediately
offered a seat. Then, I tried to recover quickly, catching my breath and letting my heart slow down, knowing I had four stops
to Agua Branca. That's what the map said, didn't it? First stop, Barra Funda, breathe slower, Michael, breathe slower. Then the train stopped again and as I casually glanced out the window my heart started pumping wildly again as I saw the sign,
Agua Branca.
Agua Branca, shit, the map was wrong, let me out of here. But there was a mob in front of me -- a mob at 11 p.m. on a Thursday night, what's with this city? I frantically pushed forward to the doors, which were unusually far from the end of
the car where I was seated, but somehow made it out without falling onto the tracks and then searched for a cab at the
taxi stand at the station.
But the station was devoid of any life. I didn't have a clue where to go and suddenly two girls came out of nowhere.
I asked directions to the address of the party and they pointed me in the right direction, but said quite ominously, "It is
very dangerous."
This seemed to be a pervasive thought about Brazil, in particular my final destination in Rio. But being a born and bred
New Yorker and seasoned traveler -- plus being a guy -- I plodded on, albeit with some trepidation, climbing a staircase
to a short trestle overhang and then came downstairs cautiously as I saw a lone man sitting near the foot of the stairs.
However, I strode past him with purpose, searching for signs of street life and the desired address.
I walked and walked -- much farther than I'd expected -- just how big was the Agua Branca quarter? The avenues were relatively barren, save a few cars and a pedestrian or two, and occasionally I kept asking someone to point me to
Francisco Ottavian, the street for my party.
I walked on and on and couldn't find a taxi, wondering if I'd get there before the shindig was over. Finally, I found the street,
but it was relatively desolate with no buildings to check the address.
I looked again for taxis, there were none, but at least there was life on the boulevard with cars and an occasional bus, so
I felt safe as I headed for the nearest building very far away. Finally, as I approached the building, hoping it had numbers emblazoned that might provide an approximation of how close I was to where I was headed, I saw two klieg lights in the sky, reminiscent of a Hollywood première. This had to be it, I thought, and I was right. I had made it to the gala alive and determined that when it was time to leave I would take a taxi back to my hotel.
The gala, far from winding down, was just getting started towards midnight, even on a Thursday night. It was a very lively
affair with beer and wine comped along with lots of hors d'oeuvres munched by the glitterati of Brazil's largest city.
But the point of this tale is not to say such venues don't exist or that the people in São Paulo are not sophisticated, just that
it is not a city whose treasures are easy to find. It's almost like finding the proverbial door, where you knock three times,
a little window opens and you say "Joe" -- or in this case "José sent me" and you are admitted inside.
Unless you have a lot of time and are just curious to see a huge city, I'd skip this town completely.
Next stop: The Iguassu Falls.
Follow Michael Russnow on Twitter: www.twitter.com/kerrloy
Contact Us
However, in São Paulo, the streets are not well maintained and are mostly dreary, the buildings are generally quite ordinary
and the shops are not so exciting. In the center of Paulista it was strewn with little convenience stores and mini-malls, because, as I was later told, Brazil doesn't have major department stores. The hotels were off the main drag -- almost out of sight, even many of the more luxurious kind.
I'm not saying there is nothing cultural going on, but there's not a whole lot worth seeing or if there is it isn't easy to find. If you have to have a local take your hand or pay a taxi driver to find it, it doesn't appear that the city has spent much thought or time to dress itself up to be the cosmopolitan city and business center of Brazil that it is cracked up to be.
Now, to be sure, São Paulo is not known as a tourist center, as are other major cities around the world, including its regional neighbor Rio de Janeiro. And there's a reason, because while it may be livable if you have your home in the right neighborhood, the nightlife that I saw in the Bela Vista/Paulista area, billed as one of the more attractive spots in the tourist guides, most people were hanging around on Friday night at little corner bars and small food shops.
Yes, there's the Teatro Municipal, the Mosteiro de São Bento Monastery not far from that and the area just around it, but
to my mind those few things and a bit more are not enough to be worth the hassle of getting there and the cost of a hotel.
The security in the city appeared pretty good, and there were policemen stationed in little kiosks on almost every corner of
the main avenues. However, these guys are not Columbo and most apparently don't speak any English, nor do they appear
to be very bright. I mean, even using my best Marcel Marceau techniques, I couldn't get one of these cops to deal with a bum who was following me for quite awhile and who strangely stood there quite cooperatively as I performed my pantomime for
the policeman, demonstrating how the misanthrope wouldn't leave me alone.
Even as the panhandler made mocking gestures towards me, the policeman, unless he was an idiot, must have known why
I was outraged, yet he didn't do a thing. Didn't raise a dismissive finger at the guy, but instead kept staring at me like a
dog does when you point to a TV set for it to watch. Instead of turning to the TV, it keeps looking at you. So much for
São Paulo law enforcement.
The general infrastructure is quite good. Most of the subway lines are operational and cheap, though the locals -- especially
in the professions -- frown on using them and urged me to take a cab. But I researched the Metro lines and easily made my way to the two film and television meetings I'd prearranged in central locations without difficulty and without spending a lot of time or wasting too many Brazilian Reals.
However, if you're going somewhere a little out of the way, it might be a different story. I was invited to the São Paulo Film Festival opening night gala in a neighborhood known as Agua Branca. While getting ready in my hotel, I glanced at my
subway map and noticed there was an Agua Branca station on a suburban line, only a few stops from a connecting subway station. I figured if I took the train there I'd then be in close proximity to the party and planned to take a taxi the rest of the way (fully expecting a taxi to be readily available at the commuter train station) and would save the lion's share of the taxi fare if
I'd taken the cab all the way from my hotel.
The subway trip started off well -- it was just a couple of stops and then a connection to another subway line, where a few
more stops later I would catch the free connection to the suburban train. However, when I transferred from the subway line
to the suburban train, as I bade farewell to the nice Brazilian guy who escorted me to where I needed to go, I almost fell into
a gaping hole, because the platform was about a foot or so from the train door. In doing so, I wrenched my back and found
my new umbrella slip from my hands onto the tracks.
Suddenly the doors to the train closed and my mind veered from the loss of my K-Mart purchased $10 umbrella to the faint feelings that had come over me, which someone in the crowded train car must have noticed, because I was immediately
offered a seat. Then, I tried to recover quickly, catching my breath and letting my heart slow down, knowing I had four stops
to Agua Branca. That's what the map said, didn't it? First stop, Barra Funda, breathe slower, Michael, breathe slower. Then the train stopped again and as I casually glanced out the window my heart started pumping wildly again as I saw the sign,
Agua Branca.
Agua Branca, shit, the map was wrong, let me out of here. But there was a mob in front of me -- a mob at 11 p.m. on a Thursday night, what's with this city? I frantically pushed forward to the doors, which were unusually far from the end of
the car where I was seated, but somehow made it out without falling onto the tracks and then searched for a cab at the
taxi stand at the station.
But the station was devoid of any life. I didn't have a clue where to go and suddenly two girls came out of nowhere.
I asked directions to the address of the party and they pointed me in the right direction, but said quite ominously, "It is
very dangerous."
This seemed to be a pervasive thought about Brazil, in particular my final destination in Rio. But being a born and bred
New Yorker and seasoned traveler -- plus being a guy -- I plodded on, albeit with some trepidation, climbing a staircase
to a short trestle overhang and then came downstairs cautiously as I saw a lone man sitting near the foot of the stairs.
However, I strode past him with purpose, searching for signs of street life and the desired address.
I walked and walked -- much farther than I'd expected -- just how big was the Agua Branca quarter? The avenues were relatively barren, save a few cars and a pedestrian or two, and occasionally I kept asking someone to point me to
Francisco Ottavian, the street for my party.
I walked on and on and couldn't find a taxi, wondering if I'd get there before the shindig was over. Finally, I found the street,
but it was relatively desolate with no buildings to check the address.
I looked again for taxis, there were none, but at least there was life on the boulevard with cars and an occasional bus, so
I felt safe as I headed for the nearest building very far away. Finally, as I approached the building, hoping it had numbers emblazoned that might provide an approximation of how close I was to where I was headed, I saw two klieg lights in the sky, reminiscent of a Hollywood première. This had to be it, I thought, and I was right. I had made it to the gala alive and determined that when it was time to leave I would take a taxi back to my hotel.
The gala, far from winding down, was just getting started towards midnight, even on a Thursday night. It was a very lively
affair with beer and wine comped along with lots of hors d'oeuvres munched by the glitterati of Brazil's largest city.
But the point of this tale is not to say such venues don't exist or that the people in São Paulo are not sophisticated, just that
it is not a city whose treasures are easy to find. It's almost like finding the proverbial door, where you knock three times,
a little window opens and you say "Joe" -- or in this case "José sent me" and you are admitted inside.
Unless you have a lot of time and are just curious to see a huge city, I'd skip this town completely.
Next stop: The Iguassu Falls.
Follow Michael Russnow on Twitter: www.twitter.com/kerrloy
Contact Us
