Ode to the Brazilian mumbler

It's Christmas day in Ouro Prêto, Brazil, a peaceful colonial town set amongst lush green hills. I've been fortunate to have met heaps of English speaking (and some Portuguese-speaking) travellers here to spend Christmas with; I'd been experiencing my fair share of solitude, so it has been good to re-establish human contact.

I have met a few people here and there - a very eccentric Frenchman (whose name I forgot, so I decided to call him Jean-Claude) who travels with only a tiny daypack, alternating between two very smelly T-shirts, and has no greater plan other than to go fishing at every opportunity possible, fighting the fierce and relentless world with his extremely laid back attitude. He and Guillermo, a Spaniard (also not his real name) provided some welcome company for me in Posadas, Argentina, although they snored in symphony in the dorm room, while Jean-Claude complemented the melody line with some incoherent French mumbling as he slept.

Crossing into Brazil, a few things changed. Softer toilet paper, higher prices, fruitier breakfasts and of course a different language. I hoped I'd be able to pick up Portuguese where I left off in Mozambique a year ago, but the accent is very different here and I've struggled to understand people, although I'm slowly gaining ground. One problem is that young shop assistants in particular seem to mumble an awful lot, even when I ask them to repeat themselves. Then they laugh at me. The one positive thing I get from this is that I realise now that this happened very rarely in my final weeks in Argentina - while my Portuguese is still getting there, my Spanish reached a reasonably comfortable level without me fully realising it. Having said that, I have had a few substantial conversations with Brazilians in their language, once they could see that they needed to speak slowly for my benefit. And it's a beautiful language.

Crossed the border at the grand Iguazu Falls - a great sight, particularly on the Brazilian side as a platform took me out into the middle of the falls, with water everywhere (sorry, my description isn't very vivid. Let me assure you it was cool). São Paolo is a city almost as big as all of Australia - helicopters ferry rich executives between meetings as the traffic is terrible, skyscrapers stretch on forever, there is a mall dedicated entirely to hip-hop garb - hats, shoes, CDs, just a one-stop shop for all your gangster needs. They also have half-Asians there, so I blended in quite well.

I've got less than a week to go now, as I've brought my flights forward to be home earlier to prepare for my interstate move. I go to Rio de Janeiro tonight, for the big finale, and I have been constantly re-gluing my sandals back together, and hoping they will last me the last five days. Steep cobblestone streets really give ageing footwear a good workout.