Early on a Brazilian morning

I arrived in Sao Paulo after a three-movie flight – none of which were at all memorable – and a decent sleep as well. It was dawn when we touched down at Guarulhos International Airport and, bizarrely, I hoped that customs, immigration and luggage would be wonderfully inefficient, so that I would then get caught in the morning traffic (in a flat rate taxi, the time is irrelevant) and arrive at the hotel at a sensible enough time to get a room early, without being charged for the extra time. But Brazil is booming these days (being one if the BRIC nations) and everything was incredibly efficient. So it was not even 06.30 when I walked into the hotel in one of city’s shiny suburbs, on the way out towards Interlagos. It is all so very different to the Sao Paulo I first visited 20-odd years ago when F1 returned to the city after a period in Rio de Janeiro.

“You look tired,” said the hotel receptionist, who had obviously taken the job after failing to get into Brazil’s diplomatic service. She then informed me that the hotel would require more than $350 if I wanted a room for the whole morning. This seemed a little excessive, and so I decided to wait until the price comes down at 10.00 and am having breakfast in a room with 30 ft high pillars. I am the only guest at this time of the morning but I intend to stay a while as a buffet breakfast had endless coffee and no time limit.

Brazil still has its dodgy neighbourhoods, but this is not one of them. Looking out of the window i might (almost) be in the US. Much of the city is now very internationalised, with shops one can see in Paris, and prices that would not be out of place in Manhattan. I guess that for those who find travelling to be threatening, it is nice to have the same little comforts around one. The music is “I get no kick from champagne”, which always reminds me of the movie Blazing Saddles and makes me smile, although I find it kind of a shame that wherever one goes in the world one finds Twinings tea, President butter and those little jam pots from Bonne Maman. The only good news being that the man who runs the last-named company funds the Trophee Andros ice racing series and has done much to develop electric cars for racing, which in this day and age makes him a good sort.

From such things are great empires built and funding is found from these corporations to pay for the racing world.

Here, in the largest city in the southern hemisphere, it is springtime but everywhere there are signs that Christmas will soon be upon us.

This is the longest F1 season in the modern era and it will be nice to get it done. A little time off would be good. Still, the excitements of the weekend lie ahead. Interlagos is a great track – not one of the Tilke-rings that plague the sport – and it usually produces a good race. In any case, the Brazilian fans have such enthusiasm that one cannot help but be infected with their joie de vivre. They don’t have much to cheer about these days: this may be Rubens Barrichello’s last Grand Prix (finally), and Felipe Massa’s career is not on an upward path; Bruno Senna is struggling to stay in the game and Lucas di Grassi is out, testing Pirelli tyres. The younger Nelson Piquet has been exiled to NASCAR trucks and the next Brazilians seem a way away from F1 at the moment.

Still, there are worse places to end the year and, if all else fails, the Brazilians still have the caipirinha to ease any pain – or cause it if one has too many!