Back to Blighty

So after six months in Brazil it was time to nip back to the motherland. As much as I have enjoyed many aspects of my time so far here, I was uncharacteristically excited to go back to England.

I would get to eat decent cheese! And drink a pint! I would be able to walk from one place to another!! And I’d get to speak English, and be sarcastic.

During a brief stopover in Brasilia, in spite of wearing 2 jumpers, I shivered with cold in the 18 degrees of 6am in the Brasilia winter. How would I cope with a ‘British summer’?

At Heathrow I was thoroughly questioned as to my plans in England, in spite of my British passport and nationality. I’m not sure what net they thought I was slipping through but I was left wondering if the anti-immigration fever has stretched to not welcoming native people back once they had left for foreign soils.

The impressive St Pancras train station, London

Regardless, I was back in the UK, hearing native English. How very strange. How nice it was to queue, to see no wet floors with loose electrical cables and roller-bladed staff zipping around, and no machetes lying around. Staff that don’t show utter repulsion and, worse, surprise, when you expect them to do their job.  I was in awe of the range of snacks and happily gobbled up a Mars bar at room temperature, the way chocolate should be eaten, not from a fridge.  

Proper chips!

The tube to central London and train to Brighton were on time, clean and efficient. And comfortable. And safe. I was delighted to arrive early – time to enjoy a pint and chips in the sunshine by the station.

My friend picked me up and so began excellent hospitality, debauchery, and very little sleep. I packed in as much as possible, met up with lots of good friends, drank as many varieties of beer and ate as much food as I could, visited as many familiar places as possible. I walked everywhere, regardless of the time, distance or weather. I loved catching up with friends, and hearing their news, and the banter and sarcasm.

I enjoyed the variety. Variety of food, drink, people, cultures, opinions, attitudes, race, sexual orientation, religious beliefs, interests, hobbies, musical tastes, knowledge. I enjoyed hot showers, and flushing toilet paper down the toilet. I enjoyed wearing socks and trainers and not sweltering in the heat. And jumpers.

A proper pint!

I enjoyed the pubs with huge choices of lagers and ales, ciders, wines, spirits. Some with loud music, some with background music, all types of music. Some with no music. Some busy, some chilled. Some modern and contemporary, others rustic, shabby chic. In a word, choice.

Battered sausage and chips!

The food: full English breakfast, sausage and bacon sandwich, bangers and mash, burger and chips, 3am drunken pizza, beans on toast, Indian takeaway, crumpets, cheddar (!!!!), so many cheeses. Given my social commitments, I had much more chance to sample the unhealthy end of the food spectrum than the healthy end. But it was all delicious.

The English breakfast

Brighton was followed by a week in my home town, where it was great to spend more time with my family than I have had chance to in recent years. I went camping with my brother-in-law, hiking through the forest with a backpack, wildcamping amongst the trees, cooking on my little wood burning stove, watching the flickering flames, smelling strongly of a campfire the next morning.

To my surprise, I didn’t feel a great urge to stay. It was a lot of fun to be back and doing the things I cannot do in Palmas, but I felt that my place now is in Palmas, and I was quite content to be heading back.

Choice! Just a small part of the cheese section.

All too soon it was time to head back to Brazil. But I’d had an amazing time and my only regret was the wide selection of cheeses I’d left in my sister’s fridge and forgotten to pack. At least with my brother-in-law they would be appreciated.