The Velvet Mysteries of a New World...and The Joy of Pork!

Hello chums and bums,
Well, well, well; I could have never imagined what a series of consecutive minor culture shocks to the eyeballs, earholes and sensual organs living in Brazil would be! The stimulations are as severe here as the hedonism is head-mangling. Can I dig it? Yes, I believe I can! My whole demeanor was dour before I left, my posture poor and my anxiety glands pumped up to ten. This past 17 days has been a slow loosening up of poor old stress-mess Jim Junior, and it's a bloody relief I can tell you. There are still many river's of shit to build bridges over (or tunnels under, providing both contractors are reputable and able to meet in he middle) but things are looking pretty sweet on numerous layers of the cake (except, ironically I suppose, for my damned teeth which have mean moaning blue murder for the past month - presumably because of my fondness for cake, both real and metaphoric.)
So to what do I attribute this wonderful mellowing of the soul and softening of the sphincter? Well, first of all, special thanks and feeling must flow towards my wonderful hosts, my ever-smiling and constantly comforting sleeper-agent (and occasional lover) Maria Haha (a codename, naturally) and her welcoming, accomodating mother, father and maid, who prepares daily the most nourishing comida mineira (food from the Minas Gerais, or General Mines if you will, state of Brazil.)
Talking of food, I have renounced all forms of Vegetarianism, Veganism, Vulcanism and other free-thinking silliness to chow down respectfully and gluttonously on a glorious array of the finest farmfod I believe the world has to offer. Take the pig (please). I previously entertained a rather snobbish, stand-offish opinion on the lowly swine (currently enjoying a pretty poor press on both sides of the pond, it has to be said.) I was with Samuel L. Jackson, who once complained of its lack of regard for its own sanitation. Well, sewer rat might not taste like pumpkin pie but, by God!, a good feijoada is slave food fit for kings! A stew of black beans and, potentially and pretty much literally, every single part of a pig. It's gorgeous. At least the one I had in Sao Paolo was. And the the restaurant became a buggering Samba bar; I mean, how Brazilian can you get? Throw in a cachaca/caipirinha or three (good with lime, even better with passion fruit) and the night's a good um.
And the three cities I have thusfar explored all have their charms. BH, my current hometown, is despised by sophisticates in the more renowned locáles of Rio and Sao Paolo and for that matter by many of its own residents but I see its positive sides. It's a fine, mountainous city that looks a little like I imagine LA does at night from up the Praça do Papa (where some Pope once said some mildly encouraging things about the horizon before shufling off to some other franchise); if it is the 'Sheffield of Brazil', as one Paolista wag dubbed it, then it's like a twice-as-high, barking mad, frenetic Sheffield with a permanent heat haze and more attractive women.
Rio and SP are, to be fair, very differerent propositions. It is very possible I'll be moving to one or both of them at some point in the near future. I'd like to devote a separate entry to each of these gaudy metropolis's very soon - suffice to say that they both beat the Washington DC-aping BH back into the mineshafts. With an ostentatiously jewel-encrusted, Oscar Niemeyer-designed shovel.
Haven't found out the whereabouts of Mugabe yet. Could be an awfully long mission. But I did hobnob with the Paolistan bigwigs last weekend at a soirée for the young and painfully hip-hop (in an unfortuntely converted bordello) and had pointed out to me that the handsome boyfriend of my friend's stunningly-apparelled fashionista boss was none other than the nephew of none other than formerly-disgraced former president of Brazil Fernando Collor! Son of his brother Paolo, the media magnate who jealously engineered his brother's downfall!! Never heard of these people? Tut, for shame. Read A Death in Brazil by Peter Robb. Just don't try and borrow it from Jonny P. Because his copies with me! Anyway, maybe I've found a contact to get me closer to the tyrant Mugabe...
Much more to come
Sweet dreams of sweet places,
JimJr