footloose

i guess informal economies work better in countries where the sun is always shining. can you imagine all these people working on the street in rainy places like amsterdam or london?

of all the strange street vendors and other people working on the street in rio, the guy i saw yesterday takes the prize: a legless shoe repair guy, working his way through a pile of shoes as high as his legless body on the beautiful palm lined square largo do machado.

yes we can(s)

there is one littering i allow myself here in rio: empty cans. i don't throw them just anywhere on the street, but i place them somewhere on a ledge, on the side of the pavement or -preferably- near a waste bin. it is guilt free littering as empty cans are worth a tiny little bit of money. minutes after leaving them behind on the street someone carrying a huge plastic bag will come along to pick it up and add it to his/her collection. these can collectors can make a living of this, but it does not pay well; a quick look at the way they are dressed gives this away.

one thing i do not understand is why most people insist on throwing their cans away in rubbish bins or in their household trash. the can collectors will dig in piles of rubble looking for their low value gems, cutting open bags, making themselves and the pavement dirty.

but now here's a dilemma i am facing: should i stick to my -supposedly- more social disposing method? or should i also throw my cans in the rubbish bins, thereby at least rewarding the collectors for their dirt digging?

of course i think it would be nicer if the can collectors do not have to look for their income in my waste. but as long as other people think (or at least behave) differently, shouldn't i join this dumb majority?

a third option would be to collect all my own cans and then with the money i make of that pay, let's say, health insurance or schooling for one of the can collectors.
i would need an awful lot of cans for that though... quickly, let me get myself a beer from the fridge!

trying to do the right thing is never easy.

águas de março

some songs you can listen to again and again.
this is one of them: águas de março. this is my favorite version, performed by 2 of brazils greatest artists ever, tom jobim and elis regina - both deceased.
the title means 'waters of march'. it refers to the rain that usually falls in rio in march (though this year the águas de março seem to fall mainly in april...). the song does not tell a story. it is much more a collage of images, references. it gives the impression of life passing, of things inevitably coming to an end - just like the rain in march marks the end of summer in rio.
tom jobim made an english translation and recording of the song. he stuck to the title: waters of march. of course it rains in march in england (and in every other month of the year). these rains however are spring rains. they announce the end of winter, the awakening of nature, of new things to come. some sadness of the brazilian version is thus lost in the literal translation of the title.

traveling between rio and amsterdam i never really suffer jetlag; the time difference is after all only 3 to 5 hours (depending on summertime/wintertime here/there; can't even be bothered to explain). i do suffer from seasonlag though.
whereas here in rio, with the arrival of the águas de março the summer is making place for a cooler few months, without the madness of humidity and heat, carnival and masses of tourists, in europe people are crawling out of there houses and take to the terraces.
easter might be a christian holiday, but to me it is a badly disguised pagan spring fest: obviously eggs as symbols of fertility, the coming of the season of growth and reproduction in nature. here in rio this spring fest makes no sense to me.
when i travel to the netherlands in 2 weeks i am sure my autumn mood will clash with the happy feeling of awakening that will be present all over amsterdam. isn't it -

now it has begun to rain and i must take the hammock inside.

papers, forms, documents, signatures

there is a scene in the film 'brazil' where the character played by robert de niro -a heroic, rebelious plumber, no less!- gets attacked by documents, and actually disappears in a storm of forms and papers. he is literally devoured by paperwork.
i never really understood the title of the film. but now that i live in brazil i am starting to understand; bureaucracy in brazil is of the highest sophistication i have ever come across, only surpassed maybe by india's.



1. i usually make my appointments at the whole or the half hour. sometimes a quarter before or after the hour. to be more precise than that simply makes no sense. there are too many factors that get in the way of making it on the exact minute: traffic, public transport, chance meetings on the way and of course leaving too late and laziness.
official organizations might work differently though. particularly in brazil. who am i to know?

i had to apply for a fiscal number. so i went to the office. an impressive office. huge building. many guards, with guns. “nobody steals our paperwork!”
they made an appointment for me, a few days later. they also set a time for my appointment: 16:46. sixteen forty six! exactly. not quarter to 5. not roughly 5. not anywhere between half past 4 and 5. no. 16:46!


needless to say, on the appointed day and hour i had to wait for about half an hour (37 minutes, to be precise). but i liked the attempt.

2. i needed a light bulb with a small fitting. not something you buy in a supermarket here. but this specialized shop was bound to have it. sure enough – there it was. displayed in a glass show case, sitting happily next to its red, green and flame light bulb brothers and sisters. inches away from my nose.
a lady appeared. she picked the chosen light bulb out of the display case and ... put it on a shelf behind her. what i got was a handwritten note, illegible to me. “now you have to take this note there”. she pointed to a window some meters away.
at the window i handed over the note and a 2R$ banknote. i got a new note, printed, a receipt and some coins change.
with the receipt and the new note i could go to the counter right next to the window i had just left.
now i had to hand over this new note and show the receipt. only then did the light bulb materialise.

3. i am sure it is easier to buy atomic warheads in vatican city than to get an internet connection in rio.
only 1 provider operates in our neighbourhood: oi, which means hello. well... hello?! oi simply decided to stop making more internet connections in our neighbourhood for the time being. and nobody knows how long this “time being” will be. could be 2 months. could be forever. hello?!

there is an alternative: mobile internet. 3G. plug and surf. you are only 3 easy steps away from total freedom. check your mail on the go. the future is now. wow. a totally new life lies ahead of us.

so of we went, the boyfriend and i. to the telephone shop. flashy shop. many terminals, young, smiling attendants, all so healthy looking.
the boyfriend had his little folder with him. in it all documents you need in brasil to get anything done.
and then this smiling, healthy looking bitch decided to ruin it all. one document was not good for her: the rental agreement of our apartment did not have a certified signature on it. so off we went. me to get a sandwich and to swear a little bit. the boyfriend to a little office to get his signature certified. this means that a guy or girl in an office looks at it and says: yes, this is indeed your signature. then he/she will put a sticker and a stamp next to it. and then he/she will charge you 15R$ and wishes you a good day.

my stomach filled and anger cooled, and armed with the certified signature nothing could go wrong now. and, amazingly, nothing went wrong. it just took another hour or so.
now 2 smiling attendants helped us. photocopies were made. forms were filled in. a long phone call was made – to the manager, the head office? to the ministry of defense? we paid. i got a receipt. i had to give the receipt back. a photocopy was made. we were given 2 boxes with hardware. and we were out off there!

when i bought my apartment i had to hand over less documents than the boyfriend had to to get this internet connection... seriously!

but now we have internet. mobile, but very slow. the boyfriend is already making phone calls about it, little folder sitting on his lap. and always they manage to ask him for a number or a bit of information which he does not have – probably because it doesn't exist in the first place.
“ah, but we need to know the fiscal registration number of the company that produced the modem. and the shoe size of the neighbour of your brother in law. good afternoon to you too.”