Party night in Ouro Preto leaves no sore heads the next day, and after some fond farewells we grab a taxi to the Rodoviaria to catch the 11am bus to Belo Horizonte, Brazil's 3rd biggest city and home to Campeonata Champions Cruzeiro (and non-champions Mineiro). The guidebooks say that BH has little to offer visitors except decent food, but it makes a sensible stop on our way north to Diamantina, and surely it can provide enough to entertain us for a couple of days.
Initial impressions were unfavourable, as we rounded the hill overlooking Belo and noticed an enormous city hidden in a valley, dominated with tower blocks in an obvious, North American, way. It didn't help that barely an hour out of Ouro Preto our bus suffered a flat tyre and we had to transfer to a new bus where we couldn't get seats together, and where Sarah's blood sugars plummeted as we reached BH city limits, with no supplies on us to perk them up.
Although we quickly found food in a local shopping centre near the bus station, it took a further hour to find our bus, the stop having been moved a few streets away. Easier said than done without a map. Yet, tired and irritable, we stumbled upon it, and were amused to discover our stop was no more than a few minutes down the road. A half-arsed hill in the way, we arrive at Hostel BH. Not quite as charming or friendly as our previous locales, but it will certainly do for the next couple of days.
The folk in Rio warned us Belo would be warm, and if you could describe it as anything then it would be that. Hot and humid, sweat lashing off us as we get accustomed to yet another new location, the city we are most reminded of is Los Angeles, another city where the car is king. As if to confirm this, the main road leading back to the Centro is Rua Dom Pedro II, the Mallusk of Latin America. There are shops here devoted to every individual car part you can imagine. A warehouse of indicator covers. I wish I had taken a picture.
Although we are close to the city centre, a motorway lies in our way, so we jump back on a bus and out where the shops are. Belo begins to look more attractive. Built in a strange grid system with diagonal cross-sections of main roads, it can be difficult to orientate yourself, not least because the sun doesn't behave as you want it to when you are trying to work out whether you are facing north or south during the day. Our little map points us towards a few Pracas (parks) and we mosey. The concrete miles of west Belo become a more attractive central area, with longer roads flanked by classic buildings.
Initial impressions were unfavourable, as we rounded the hill overlooking Belo and noticed an enormous city hidden in a valley, dominated with tower blocks in an obvious, North American, way. It didn't help that barely an hour out of Ouro Preto our bus suffered a flat tyre and we had to transfer to a new bus where we couldn't get seats together, and where Sarah's blood sugars plummeted as we reached BH city limits, with no supplies on us to perk them up.
Although we quickly found food in a local shopping centre near the bus station, it took a further hour to find our bus, the stop having been moved a few streets away. Easier said than done without a map. Yet, tired and irritable, we stumbled upon it, and were amused to discover our stop was no more than a few minutes down the road. A half-arsed hill in the way, we arrive at Hostel BH. Not quite as charming or friendly as our previous locales, but it will certainly do for the next couple of days.
The folk in Rio warned us Belo would be warm, and if you could describe it as anything then it would be that. Hot and humid, sweat lashing off us as we get accustomed to yet another new location, the city we are most reminded of is Los Angeles, another city where the car is king. As if to confirm this, the main road leading back to the Centro is Rua Dom Pedro II, the Mallusk of Latin America. There are shops here devoted to every individual car part you can imagine. A warehouse of indicator covers. I wish I had taken a picture.
Although we are close to the city centre, a motorway lies in our way, so we jump back on a bus and out where the shops are. Belo begins to look more attractive. Built in a strange grid system with diagonal cross-sections of main roads, it can be difficult to orientate yourself, not least because the sun doesn't behave as you want it to when you are trying to work out whether you are facing north or south during the day. Our little map points us towards a few Pracas (parks) and we mosey. The concrete miles of west Belo become a more attractive central area, with longer roads flanked by classic buildings.
A tower block with the plastic protection sheeting as yet unremoved.
They were right about the food. All you can eat self-service buffet for £2.25 each, and a big beer was a quid.
The Ingreja de Bom Viajem, with mass in progress
We took a wrong turn and ended up at Praca da Liberdade, which is when the charm of the big city fell into place. Of course it feels more like the Twelfth than Christmas, albeit not so Presbyterian, but every so often you see Santa, and that reminds you that all these people out shopping are buying presents.
Sarah and Santa. Bless.
A wire-frame nativity, lit by green spotlights.
By now its 8pm and the sun has set, and we have had a long day. Back to the hostel via a supermarket, everything is cheaper here than Rio, which is a relief, and we settle down to book our Christmas accommodation in Paraguay, falling asleep as I click the 'book now' button.
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