The Couchsurfing Chronicles - Part 1

In a bid to save money - or rather not spend money we don't have - Rhia and I have decided to try our hand at 'couchsurfing' our way to Buenos Aires. For those not in the know, this is basically staying on strangers couches for free. Sounds dodgy? Yes, it really does, but I guess we will find out.
I have never got into internet dating, but I imagine it is pretty much the same. First you have to create a profile - of course using your most attractive or eccentric picture of yourself - and detailing your interests: long walks on the beach, cold winter nights by a warm fire etc.
I filled in my profile and tried very hard not to be too sacastic in my responses detailing my 'mission', 'personal philosophy' and 'amazing things seen/done'. Profile complete, I started surfing for couches.
Looking first to Sao Paulo I browsed through some potential candidates to host us for a couple nights. Flicking through all the profiles I felt like I should really have a glass of wine and a matchmaker by my side. "Hmmm, he may be tall and enjoy hiking but with those chubby cheeks and your double chin imagine what your kids would look like..."
After flirting my way through about 200 profiles, I drew up a shortlist of three. A Brazilian chap called Patiago who seems very keen on drinking and eating (the fun option); an apparently 99-year-old lady - she looks more like 40 in her photo - who is a buddhist, chocoholic and aspiring vegetarian (the safe option); and a student with some floor space (the last option).
Deciding with Rhia that fun would be our first intention on our travels we emailed Patiago. Sending a message that was hopefully polite and friendly, without giving too much away or the wrong impression, we said we would like to surf his couch. Now we await nervously for a response to find out if he will be the one to pop our couchsurfing cherry...




Brazilians and their bikinis

You know how some cultures steal things and words from other cultures and make it completely their own? Well Brazil has done it to the bikini... Bikini was first of all a French word and phenomonon and then Pammy Anderson and the Baywatch crew clearly made it theirs (even though they mainly wore red swimsuits), but now the bikini trophy is firmly in Brazil's hands. Or cheeks.
Bikinis are in a whole other league here. Every colour, every style, every animal print... they have pretty much sussed every possible combination although the one thing that they seem to have little flexibility on is size. The smaller the better and there's no room for modesty.
Although nude and topless sunbathing in unbelievably illegal here, it is a shameful thing to cover more than 40% of your arse cheeks.
As my dear friend Rhia kindly pointed out on my first beach outing, my bikini was far too British. I needed something smaller and quick. So off we troddled to the shops.
Walking into an unassuming brown building block, of what I thought was flats, I found myself looking up at 12 floors of shops - with about four bikini vendors on each floor.
This was clearly going to be a military task. So whipping out my paper and pen we started from Floor 12 working our way down each level scoring every bikini shop on the way.
After three hours and a sandwich stop we took the lift back up to the top to start trying them on. First of all the bottoms - the nemises of British bikini wearers. A piece of skin that rarely sees the sun and which we are all desperate to keep covered up, even myself as a reasonably daring bikini wearer.
I picked what looked like a very modest black number on the hanger, asked for a large just in case (it is always more flattering to ask for a smaller size later), and took it to the changing room to give it a whirl. A few awkward moments later and I asked in a shy voice to Rhia whether they did it in a bigger size. She translated to the shop attendant who laughed out loud: "Bigger? They don't exist here!"
So that was it, no option.
Despite a builder's bum, I now have a new bikini that is just about acceptable in Brazilian terms but still managing, only just, to cover all my British bits.