Greetings from São Paulo

There is some dispute as to whether São Paulo is the third or the eighth largest city on earth. All I can say is that from the air it's really, really big. Imagine a city the size of Los Angeles that's as intensely developed as New York — but with the kind of orange-tiled roofs you associate with Spanish villas, and a sprinkling of palm trees all the way through — and you have a rough idea of the city I'm walking around right now.

São Paulo is known as Brazil's economic powerhouse — they say the economy of this one city is the size of Argentina's — and much of what I see around me is concrete building after concrete building, surrounding an inner cluster of banks and offices. On the whole, most of the areas we've driven through have the aesthetic charm of the Bronx. But there are surprises here and there, at both ends of the economic scale: the barely-held together with chicken wire shantytown that's right in front of the new Hilton, and the plantation house, the home of a former coffee baron, where we had lunch — huge and beautiful and surrounded by gardens, with art galleries in the former slave quarters. More on that later.

And the people I've met are as friendly, unique and exciting as the cityscape can be drab. São Paulo is a place where people from every part of the world have come to make their homes. There's a huge Japanese neighborhood, whole sections of English and Germans and Portuguese, and an Italian influence felt everywhere. One of my new friends, Elijah, claims Brazilian pizza is the best on earth. Tonight I'll find out.

And the food. Oh, the food. Thin slices of roast beef grilled over charcoal. Risotto. Bananas in manioc flour. Tiny bits of beef in spicy mustard. Seafood and sliced fruit, mixed together. Espresso strong enough to qualify as rocket fuel. And always Guaraná, that soft drink with a bit of a kick I've heard described as Brazil's Coca-Cola.

I'm on an ambitious schedule here — meetings with business leaders, visits to various parts of the city, tours of the hotel — and I'm pretty tired, and my Portuguese is really pretty bad. And it's hot — at least 80 degrees — and I'm wilting a bit. But I don't mind. There was a lot to see from the air; there's even more than I expected now that I'm on the ground.