Rio. I’m not sure where to begin, let alone end. This city defies attempts at labels and ordinary descriptions. How can I sensibly explain a place that is at once monstrous and alluring?
As I’ve already mentioned, Rio is monstrous in size. It also has monstrosity in spades in the form of violence and poverty. Are these problems any bigger here than elsewhere? I don’t know. I hope I don’t have to find out the hard way. While (thankfully) I have not yet witnessed anything untoward, there are clues everywhere as to its potential. Policemen walking the beat in bullet-proof vests. Houses with high-walled fences, topped with razor wire. Padlocks on every gate. Grates or security screens on windows. Everyone knowing not to leave the house with anything that looks like it might be worth something (costume jewelry or not, the advice is not to tempt). Strong cautionary words in guidebooks about using busses and the tram (like Adelaide, it has only one).
While the divide between rich and poor in this city may be enormous, for practical purposes it’s a hair’s breadth. The favelas (shanty towns or informal settlements) that are legendary for trouble, strife, drugs, violence, poverty, theft, etc are not distant in Rio. They are not on the outskirts of the city, easy to avoid or easy to ignore. They are squished in amongst affluent suburbs, abutting them directly. When I walk to the end of my street, I look across to the neighbouring hill and there I can see a favela.
To be honest, I’m afraid. In all the places I’ve been, at all the strange hours I’ve walked them, I have never really felt afraid (except on Hindley Street in Adelaide). The thing that makes me afraid is that this place has a high concentration of people who have nothing to lose and for whom therefore normal rules of engagement don’t apply. A watch is never worth killing for (sorry Dad, not even a Breitling).....except of course if human life is worth nothing, death in exchange for money is normal and you want that watch. This is not unique to Rio to be sure, but I generally stay away from war zones as a matter of principle. Rio seems to be a kind of war zone but it’s wearing a sequined bikini, dancing to samba drums.
Despite the fear, I am already seeing that it would be easy to fall in love with this place. I can feel the intoxicating allure pulling me in, demanding that I open myself to the joi de vivre that pulses here. Last night, through open windows I listened to samba drums being played. Music is everywhere and it is a beautiful thing.
Smiles are everywhere too. The people are jolly and cheerful. No one minds that I can’t speak Portugese. They help me out by enunciating slowly and clearly and smile when I still look like a mullet with special needs. Dona Neker (my hosts’ housekeeper) is a merry resident of the neighbouring favela and has been chatting to me happily every time I see her. I’m not sure what we talk about but we both laugh a lot, so our relationship is developing well. I have learned to say “ola” and today, she said “bye, bye”. I think we’re having a game of oneupmanship and I’m losing by a word. However, if she pushes the point, I’ll lodge a steward’s enquiry on the basis that she is just repeating the same word.
I should have learned Portugese before I arrived. Not just so I could trounce Dona Neker and dazzle the shopkeepers, but, frankly, just to get by. Today I went to a lovely cafe down the road for lunch. The cafe was high above the street, outdoors under a very large avocado tree (sans fruit sadly, or I could have just pointed to get what I wanted). I must have been entirely spoilt in previous travels because I don’t remember ever having trouble ordering food. Until now.
There’s a first for everything I suppose and at least I have a good story out of it. For those in the hospitality industry, take heed and don’t make life difficult for your customers by using colloquialisms and witty names. Call a tater a spud and be done with it. Preferably, keep several simplified translations handy for those visitors who aren’t lucky enough to be familiar with the local language. In the end, I accidentally ordered a cheese sandwich, which delighted me by coming out grilled. Being a non-consumer of dairy, I didn’t really want cheese but it was better than the next thing on the menu which was “a (something not present in the dictionary) with cheese of a (something (variety, one presumes) not present in the dictionary) either forgiveness of loin of Canadian chest pains of turkey”. Thanks for nothing, Oxford Pocket Dictionary.
Despite its faults, this city has the potential to be one of the greatest tourism destinations in the world. The geography is stunning. Beaches and greenery abound. The people are friendly and joyful. The weather is perfect (Queensland, you know nothing). The culture is strong, interesting and open to participation. The food is fantastic (I’m sure the chest pains of turkey are delectable). The architecture is diverse and eye-catching. What’s not to love?
So how does one describe Rio? I have spent my first few days here pondering just this question. Even having pondered it for days, I still find myself stilted and lacking the right words. Rio is more than words. It’s all in the vibe. And yet, it’s so much more. All I can conclude is that it is not one thing or even the sum of its parts. This city is everything and nothing. It’s both a feast for and an assault on the senses. It’s frightening beyond imagination yet so alluring as to be irresistible. It doesn’t play by expected rules but it does function according to its own standards. Its full of fun and tears, joy and tragedy, determination and lost soul, love and mourning, music and violence. It has natural endowments and developed assets. It’s now clear: Rio is a woman. No wonder I was having trouble working her out.
Thursday, 26 May 2011
Monday, 23 May 2011
Everything is bigger in Brazil
Well, I haven’t checked out everything yet but certainly, my first impression of Brazil is that at least the cities and breasts are much bigger here.
The breasts are self explanatory and, contrary to what all the boys will demand, do not require photographic evidence.
The cities - well, they are astonishing. My first stop was Salvador because, not being a details person, I didn’t notice that my flight from Europe wasn’t direct. As much as I hate airport queues, there’s not much you can do to escape them once you are on the travel conveyor belt. One day, I would like to work out a way to travel whereby I can eliminate as many airport queues as possible. I suspect the answer is private jet so if anyone would like to fund my lifestyle, I’d be very pleased to receive donations.
Salvador was my first taste of Brazil and oh wow, it certainly set the scene. Flying in was a similar experience to flying in to LA from the east or circling over London. The city sprawled forever in all directions. And then came Rio. Just in case I thought Salvador was big, Rio came along to reassure me that I ain’t seen nothing yet.
I’m staying in a fabulous studio in Santa Teresa - a historic neighbourhood known for being bohemian and full of artists (they must have all been sleeping when I went out today). Santa Teresa hugs a hill and looks exactly as you’d imagine a bohemian neighbourhood to look - winding streets, crammed with beautiful old yet colourful buildings. Shabby chic before it became banal. The views of Rio from my windows are magnificent. The city is a fascinating mix of old and new, shiny and filthy, architectural and utilitarian. I haven’t braved the city beyond my neighbourhood yet - I have to admit to being every so slightly paranoid about the crime rates I’ve read about, but I’ve very much enjoyed just drinking in the site of the city itself from my serene vantage point.
Tomorrow is another day and I shall try to be brave enough to leave the hood without accidentally winding up in a favela on my way. Wish me luck.
The breasts are self explanatory and, contrary to what all the boys will demand, do not require photographic evidence.
The cities - well, they are astonishing. My first stop was Salvador because, not being a details person, I didn’t notice that my flight from Europe wasn’t direct. As much as I hate airport queues, there’s not much you can do to escape them once you are on the travel conveyor belt. One day, I would like to work out a way to travel whereby I can eliminate as many airport queues as possible. I suspect the answer is private jet so if anyone would like to fund my lifestyle, I’d be very pleased to receive donations.
Salvador was my first taste of Brazil and oh wow, it certainly set the scene. Flying in was a similar experience to flying in to LA from the east or circling over London. The city sprawled forever in all directions. And then came Rio. Just in case I thought Salvador was big, Rio came along to reassure me that I ain’t seen nothing yet.
I’m staying in a fabulous studio in Santa Teresa - a historic neighbourhood known for being bohemian and full of artists (they must have all been sleeping when I went out today). Santa Teresa hugs a hill and looks exactly as you’d imagine a bohemian neighbourhood to look - winding streets, crammed with beautiful old yet colourful buildings. Shabby chic before it became banal. The views of Rio from my windows are magnificent. The city is a fascinating mix of old and new, shiny and filthy, architectural and utilitarian. I haven’t braved the city beyond my neighbourhood yet - I have to admit to being every so slightly paranoid about the crime rates I’ve read about, but I’ve very much enjoyed just drinking in the site of the city itself from my serene vantage point.
Tomorrow is another day and I shall try to be brave enough to leave the hood without accidentally winding up in a favela on my way. Wish me luck.
‘Ain’t no mountain high enough’ and other adventures
I’m dubious about the claim that there is no mountain high enough to keep me from getting to you. Perhaps I’m just a milk and water lass but climbing mountains is hard work. I speak from somewhat pained experience. Having gone out under the false pretense of ‘a walk’, I ended up hiking both up and down a mountain. A real one (yes, I’m looking at you Mt Lofty, you falsely-named bump). A large mountain. 1300 metres or so to be non-precise. I trudged up and down arduous terrain, including snow drifts. It was six hours worth of walking. By the beginning of the downward route, every muscle in my legs was quivering. I felt like I had an electrical storm raging in each butt cheek (that should be fun but all it did was make walking difficult). So, having done that and discovered how much effort is required, I’m managing your expectations and telling you that you’ll have to wait for me until they work out an easier way to cross the mountain. That said, the scenery was quite breathtaking and that alone was worth the climb. As a bonus, I have now crossed “climb a mountain” off my bucket list. Photos (of the views, not my butt cheeks) to follow once internet speed improves.
Remarkably, the next day I was able to get out of bed. Much to my shocked delight. While atrophied muscles aren’t usually a tragedy on holidays (who doesn’t love an excuse to stay in bed all day?) I needed to be made of sterner stuff as the next day, I had to tour Prague. Let’s just pause for a moment and consider how cool that is - I went to Prague for a day-trip. Way cool.
So was Prague. Paris of the East they call it and I can see why. The river wending its way through the city is reminiscent of the Seine and the abundance of pale old buildings also echos the Parisian landscape. The old town of Prague is truly beautiful - aided in a large part to the recent flood which resulted in a massive investment in restoring the city. The city is vibrant, with lots of classical music concerts in churches, art exhibitions and tours of the city courtesy of classic convertible cars and romantic horse-drawn carriages (which incidentally, always look more romantic than they actually are - traveling that close to a horse’s behind is usually quite an aromatic affair).
One of the downsides is that the city is packed like a sardine can with tourists. I have major sympathy for any residents trying to live in the city - it’s a nightmare to walk through the hoards. One of the upsides of that is that it isn’t too hard to attach a listening ear to a passing group and pick up interesting tidbits of information without having to bother with an organised tour. Just follow the umbrella, or flower or briefcase raised above head-height to keep the groups together. Our tour leader wanted to bring a pair of undies on a stick as our guiding rod but the group over-ruled her in the interests of not attracting unwanted hangers-on. Who wouldn’t want to join a tour led by undies on a stick? We’d be inundated.
Another downside is the cost. Prague is a very, very, very, very, very expensive city. Someone reminded me of Switzerland when I said it was THE most expensive city I’ve visited. They may have a point - Switzerland was expensive too, but Prague seemed ridiculous even when compared to other European cities I’ve visited. That said, it’s still worth seeing so save your pennies and come over. Let me know when so we can share accommodation costs - there is a Mucha and Dali exhibition that I didn’t get a chance to see which is on the bucket list.
One last thing which deserves an honourable mention from the week that was relates to food. Someone needs to tell the operators of Chinese restaurants in mainland Europe that Chinese food is supposed to taste different to their food. That’s the point of an exotic cuisine! Twice (in two different restaurants) I ate Chinese food that, while was tasty in itself, did not even remotely resemble Chinese food in taste. Can you complain about false advertising in such an instance? So, dear friends, learn from my mistakes and check who is cooking before sitting down to avoid receiving Chinese vegetables that look remarkably like steamed mixed veg in gravy.
Remarkably, the next day I was able to get out of bed. Much to my shocked delight. While atrophied muscles aren’t usually a tragedy on holidays (who doesn’t love an excuse to stay in bed all day?) I needed to be made of sterner stuff as the next day, I had to tour Prague. Let’s just pause for a moment and consider how cool that is - I went to Prague for a day-trip. Way cool.
So was Prague. Paris of the East they call it and I can see why. The river wending its way through the city is reminiscent of the Seine and the abundance of pale old buildings also echos the Parisian landscape. The old town of Prague is truly beautiful - aided in a large part to the recent flood which resulted in a massive investment in restoring the city. The city is vibrant, with lots of classical music concerts in churches, art exhibitions and tours of the city courtesy of classic convertible cars and romantic horse-drawn carriages (which incidentally, always look more romantic than they actually are - traveling that close to a horse’s behind is usually quite an aromatic affair).
One of the downsides is that the city is packed like a sardine can with tourists. I have major sympathy for any residents trying to live in the city - it’s a nightmare to walk through the hoards. One of the upsides of that is that it isn’t too hard to attach a listening ear to a passing group and pick up interesting tidbits of information without having to bother with an organised tour. Just follow the umbrella, or flower or briefcase raised above head-height to keep the groups together. Our tour leader wanted to bring a pair of undies on a stick as our guiding rod but the group over-ruled her in the interests of not attracting unwanted hangers-on. Who wouldn’t want to join a tour led by undies on a stick? We’d be inundated.
Another downside is the cost. Prague is a very, very, very, very, very expensive city. Someone reminded me of Switzerland when I said it was THE most expensive city I’ve visited. They may have a point - Switzerland was expensive too, but Prague seemed ridiculous even when compared to other European cities I’ve visited. That said, it’s still worth seeing so save your pennies and come over. Let me know when so we can share accommodation costs - there is a Mucha and Dali exhibition that I didn’t get a chance to see which is on the bucket list.
One last thing which deserves an honourable mention from the week that was relates to food. Someone needs to tell the operators of Chinese restaurants in mainland Europe that Chinese food is supposed to taste different to their food. That’s the point of an exotic cuisine! Twice (in two different restaurants) I ate Chinese food that, while was tasty in itself, did not even remotely resemble Chinese food in taste. Can you complain about false advertising in such an instance? So, dear friends, learn from my mistakes and check who is cooking before sitting down to avoid receiving Chinese vegetables that look remarkably like steamed mixed veg in gravy.
Thursday, 19 May 2011
Special Bulletin
I interrupt normal programming to bring you this special bulletin.
I realise I’m on holidays and should be regaling you with tales of happy adventures, poignant stories of human courage and amusing anecdotes of cultures foreign, but people - I’m concerned. About three things specifically:
1) bugs
2) road behaviour
3) current fashions in the bureaucracy
It’s late Spring here in Poland. For those for whom the results of that statement are not self-evident, let me explain: Poland is quite far north and therefore experiences lengthy daylight ours in Spring and Summer. Not long past four this morning I was awoken (to broad daylight no less) by flying ants cavorting in my room. Luckily they weren’t flying, biting ants but nonetheless, they were irritating and I had to kill them all. You might then understand why I’m a little irritable and feel the need to vent my concerns today. While it was light at 4am and arguably light means getting up time, I was not amused. Since the sun is now rising and I can no longer sleep, I thought I’d put fingers to keyboard.
So, let’s start with bugs. Obviously, being woken up by a swarm of flying ants is quite disconcerting in it’s own right. What’s more alarming is the proliferation of insects that have never before been present in this country. Scientists are telling us that we are at risk of ecological collapse because bees are disappearing all over the world. This in itself is very worrying and I’m surprised more is not made of it. Then again, with the decay of journalism evident everywhere, perhaps I’m not really surprised at all. But I digress: let’s get back to bugs. I’ve only been here two and a half weeks and already I have been brutally wrenched from sleep by flying ants, bitten by evil midges every night at dusk if I have dared to be outside and had to help my dad remove an army of ticks from his dog, Cooper. You might wonder what I’m whining about - a couple of flying bugs and ticks aren’t as bad as, say, being in the outback in summer. Or not as bad as malarial mosquitos in the tropics. Or not even as bad as those flesh eating spiders that devour camels in the Middle East. And you may have a point. However, the reason I’m concerned is not just because these creatures are interrupting my enjoyment of the great outdoors but because until very recently (less than five years), they simply did not exist here. Or at least if they did, they were in such low numbers or in such locations that no one noticed. Now it seems that every house, garden and field has them. Coupled with the disappearance of bees, I’d say these are signs of fairly serious ecological imbalance. I’m sure there are some rationalists and economists and sundry other explanationists who will put it down to market forces or simply natural cycles. Whatever. I’m not arguing cause here - just making an observation about an outcome that I think could be indicator of bigger problems afoot.
Speaking of bigger problems, let’s talk about road behaviour. Poland currently has the highest accident rate in Europe. To hire a car here, you practically have to buy it due to the insurance premiums. If you bring back a hire car unscathed, they are genuinely surprised. I have a feeling the write it off the minute they hand over keys. If the accidents were merely fender-bender type bingles, it would concern the insurance companies a lot more than me. Sadly, most accidents are not of this variety. In an average weekend, Poland loses more of its citizens on the road than Australia does in an average year. Think about that for a moment. Even accounting for the smaller size of the country and larger population, it is still a deeply concerning statistic. Not the least of which because my dad is now regularly driving amongst it. The annoying thing is that its bleeding obvious why the statistics are as they are - people drive like maniacs.
For a country that was near enough to being a police-state in my lifetime, the pendulum has swung as far in the other direction as it can before returning upon itself. Road rules, speed restrictions, good sense and plain old courtesy are completely absent from the minds of road users. It would seems that signs and markings on roads are there purely for decoration.
There is always a proportion of people who do the wrong thing. No matter how many speed warnings and speed traps there are, some people are pathalogical speeders. No matter how many education campaigns and booze busts there are, some people will continue to drive drunk. Several taxi drivers have ignored the ‘left turn only’ sign on the Parade coming out of Sydenham Road in order to get me home. I think I may have done an illegal u-turn once in the middle of the night when no one was around (don’t listen dad). OK, none of us are perfect. And I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t point out that one of my favourite sayings is “obey all the rules, miss out on all the fun”. Can I just make it clear, I don’t think this applies to road rules. Maybe it does to parking restrictions but not road rules per se. As much as I love driving at 220km/hour, I understand that if not for myself, I shouldn’t do it simply because it’s not nice to maim or kill others. I’m not entirely clear why people here don’t seem to understand that road rules are there to protect them, not just to fill up statute books.
They may be excellent precision drivers that can handle a j-turn between two lanes of moving traffic at the speed of light but frankly, that doesn’t account for the fact that Aunt Agnes will choose the precise moment they’re planning to hit the apex to turn right into the pathway and stall her 1957 trabant. People: road rules are there to help minimise the risk of damage to all of us. I don’t care how good a driver you are - just think of Ayrton Senna. And be real, you’re not as good as you think you are.
That brings me to concern number three: current fashions in the bureaucracy - you're not as efficient or effective as you think you are and risk management is not best achieved through risk avoidance.
In the last couple of weeks, I have been trying to organise some Polish documentation. Specifically, this all relates to my Polish passport, which has now expired. If I get it renewed by the Consulate in Australia, the amount of paperwork involved would harm the environment, so I thought I’d give it a go here. In theory, all I need for a passport to be issued here is a national identity card. These are free and are easy to obtain with a PESEL (a unique, personal identifying number issued by the government). While I can’t remember living here, I did and so I have one of these numbers. Should be easy right? Have number, get ID card, apply for passport. Yes, in a logical universe where bureaucrats don’t exist it would have been easy. Unfortunately, the whole thing has been so protracted, difficult and full of catch-22s that I (and my two assistants) have had to start taking medication to lower our blood pressure.
It would take many pages to fully explain the details and you wouldn’t believe the events as I described them anyway but let’s just say that between the “computer says no” attitude, an alarming lack of understanding amongst ‘expert’ staff of the statues they are administering and a phenomenal culture of risk aversion, getting anything done is near to impossible. Not everyone we met was an incompetent nincompoop but the shining lights of helpfulness were few and very far between. Three cheers for the man in the passport office who actually found evidence of my existence and two cheers for the kind lady in the ID office who agreed to accept my application for an ID in advance of a copy of birth certificate being provided. Some of my favourite interactions included the following (poetic license used sparingly but applied for brevity).
Scene: the regional office for citizens affairs (I wish it was all about citizens having affairs but alas, it’s not nearly as interesting). We were sent there by the local authority who insisted I had to prove that I was a Polish citizen in order to secure a minor amendment to some existing paperwork. We weren’t able to work out why exactly, but in the end decided that if they needed a document proving I was a citizen (evidently a local birth certificate and recently expired Polish passport and entire family locally registered were not sufficient evidence of citizenship) it was easier just to get it. So there we are, asking the lady about proof of citizenship once the very helpful man in the passport office suggested we may not need the document in question at all.
Us: So what exactly does a proof of citizenship give me? Why would I need it?
Lady: A proof of citizenship gives you evidence that you are a citizen. You need it to prove you’re a citizen - nothing else can substitute.
Us: So a birth certificate, passport and PESEL number aren’t sufficient proof?
Lady: None of those things prove citizenship.
(at this point we are confused - most normal people would assume you couldn’t get a passport or unique national identifier unless the issuing authority agreed you were actually a citizen and therefore entitled to one - to get either one of those things, the list of evidence does not require a proof of citizenship....go figure....)
Us: (sighing loudly) OK, so what exactly do those things do if not prove citizenship? In what circumstances would you have those things and not be a citizen?
Lady: (looking irritated) You don’t need to know such things. And I’m sure I don’t know all the possible circumstances. We take your application, search our files, write to the consulate in Sydney to check their files and then we issue you with a decision.
(right, excellent - I now have full faith in the system. Thanks for that.)
Scene: the local authority, responsible for most documentation relating to identity, residence etc. We are trying to find out what we need to do to get my documents issued. They insist that I do not exist. Bear in mind that the documents they need are the same documents they are supposed to hold.
Lady: No, I’m sorry, you don’t exist in our system.
Us: But that’s impossible - I appear in my mother’s passport, which could not have happened if I wasn’t written into her ID card, which had to have been done by the local authority. You must have a record somewhere in the archive.
Lady: No, we don’t.
Us: How can you explain the passport then?
Lady: I wouldn’t know, but obviously you did not register at birth and there is no record of your existence in this local authority.
Us: Given that both my parents are recorded and I am in my mother’s passport and you have all the evidence of our leaving date, can you not add the record to be correct now? Since it would have been impossible for me not to be registered given the circumstances of the day, it’s obviously an administrative error made at some stage by the authority. Can’t you correct it?
Lady: No, you’ll have to go to the central registry in Warsaw for that. They’ll look at your case and decide whether and where to register you.
(2 hours later after the helpful man in the passport office discovered that I did after all exist and was indeed registered, albeit at the wrong address)
Lady: Yes, well, you are registered but we can’t process the paperwork because I’m going home shortly.
Us: but it’s 3pm and the authority is open until 6pm - isn’t there someone else that can help us?
Lady: No, I’m afraid all the staff in this section leave at 3. You’ll have to come back another day.
This is obviously both a shortened version of events and edited dialogue but I hope you have a sense of the sheer lunacy. Now let me suggest some possible causes. There is a very real possibility, the women in question were incompetent and by their nature unhelpful. I think that's obviously true but since I like to theorise, let's play with another annoying current fashion in Polish bureacracy: risk management.
Risk management in Polish bureaucracy is front and centre at present. Unfortunately, it’s less about management and more about avoidance. Senior bureaucrats are held materially responsible for matters in their jurisdiction. This means that if something goes wrong on their watch, they can be personally fined enormous sums of money (not to mention obvious things like job loss, loss of reputation etc). I bet there are a bunch of people thinking "hoorah, finally the fat cats get their comeuppance and get held accountable". Perhaps. But consider this - in public policy, nothing is more certain than the fact that bureaucrats rarely control outcomes.
Even decisions made in accordance with statutes, well established policies and good sense sometimes have surprising consequences. Take the example of a waste tax. Several countries have introduced waste taxes - the more you throw away, the more you pay. This is consistent with the long established ‘polluter pays’ principle, rewards those who do the right thing in minimising their waste and should encourage a reduction in waste by everyone over time. We all know, people don’t like to pay tax and this scheme allows them not to pay. All they have to do is minimise their waste, which naturally, will have environmental benefits. Or will it? In several of those countries where it was introduced originally, the waste tax has now been scrapped as it led to some unexpected consequences. For example, a massive increase in food being disposed in drains (which created enormous costs for the waste-water management utilities) and backyard burning (which created enormous air pollution problems).
Most public policy decisions, even those designed to restrict or control, are made with the fundamental assumption that once the rule is put in place, people will do the ‘right’ thing. And often they do - I’m not battering the optimistic view that most people are good at their core. However, as economists tell us, people are creatures that react to incentives. The trouble with most public policy is that we don’t explore incentives sufficiently. In particular, we seem to ignore the need to thoroughly search out perverse incentives. Like my lovely ladies described above. Not only do they not have any incentives to actually be helpful (clearly no one told them they are working in customer service role and they continue to get paid whether they help me and I have a good experience or not), there are massive disincentives in place in the form of material responsibility for risk. I can argue that rectifying what is clearly an administrative mistake made some time during computerisation is low-risk but if it was my money and job on the line, would I feel the same? Hmmmm....something to think about.
I realise I’m on holidays and should be regaling you with tales of happy adventures, poignant stories of human courage and amusing anecdotes of cultures foreign, but people - I’m concerned. About three things specifically:
1) bugs
2) road behaviour
3) current fashions in the bureaucracy
It’s late Spring here in Poland. For those for whom the results of that statement are not self-evident, let me explain: Poland is quite far north and therefore experiences lengthy daylight ours in Spring and Summer. Not long past four this morning I was awoken (to broad daylight no less) by flying ants cavorting in my room. Luckily they weren’t flying, biting ants but nonetheless, they were irritating and I had to kill them all. You might then understand why I’m a little irritable and feel the need to vent my concerns today. While it was light at 4am and arguably light means getting up time, I was not amused. Since the sun is now rising and I can no longer sleep, I thought I’d put fingers to keyboard.
So, let’s start with bugs. Obviously, being woken up by a swarm of flying ants is quite disconcerting in it’s own right. What’s more alarming is the proliferation of insects that have never before been present in this country. Scientists are telling us that we are at risk of ecological collapse because bees are disappearing all over the world. This in itself is very worrying and I’m surprised more is not made of it. Then again, with the decay of journalism evident everywhere, perhaps I’m not really surprised at all. But I digress: let’s get back to bugs. I’ve only been here two and a half weeks and already I have been brutally wrenched from sleep by flying ants, bitten by evil midges every night at dusk if I have dared to be outside and had to help my dad remove an army of ticks from his dog, Cooper. You might wonder what I’m whining about - a couple of flying bugs and ticks aren’t as bad as, say, being in the outback in summer. Or not as bad as malarial mosquitos in the tropics. Or not even as bad as those flesh eating spiders that devour camels in the Middle East. And you may have a point. However, the reason I’m concerned is not just because these creatures are interrupting my enjoyment of the great outdoors but because until very recently (less than five years), they simply did not exist here. Or at least if they did, they were in such low numbers or in such locations that no one noticed. Now it seems that every house, garden and field has them. Coupled with the disappearance of bees, I’d say these are signs of fairly serious ecological imbalance. I’m sure there are some rationalists and economists and sundry other explanationists who will put it down to market forces or simply natural cycles. Whatever. I’m not arguing cause here - just making an observation about an outcome that I think could be indicator of bigger problems afoot.
Speaking of bigger problems, let’s talk about road behaviour. Poland currently has the highest accident rate in Europe. To hire a car here, you practically have to buy it due to the insurance premiums. If you bring back a hire car unscathed, they are genuinely surprised. I have a feeling the write it off the minute they hand over keys. If the accidents were merely fender-bender type bingles, it would concern the insurance companies a lot more than me. Sadly, most accidents are not of this variety. In an average weekend, Poland loses more of its citizens on the road than Australia does in an average year. Think about that for a moment. Even accounting for the smaller size of the country and larger population, it is still a deeply concerning statistic. Not the least of which because my dad is now regularly driving amongst it. The annoying thing is that its bleeding obvious why the statistics are as they are - people drive like maniacs.
For a country that was near enough to being a police-state in my lifetime, the pendulum has swung as far in the other direction as it can before returning upon itself. Road rules, speed restrictions, good sense and plain old courtesy are completely absent from the minds of road users. It would seems that signs and markings on roads are there purely for decoration.
There is always a proportion of people who do the wrong thing. No matter how many speed warnings and speed traps there are, some people are pathalogical speeders. No matter how many education campaigns and booze busts there are, some people will continue to drive drunk. Several taxi drivers have ignored the ‘left turn only’ sign on the Parade coming out of Sydenham Road in order to get me home. I think I may have done an illegal u-turn once in the middle of the night when no one was around (don’t listen dad). OK, none of us are perfect. And I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t point out that one of my favourite sayings is “obey all the rules, miss out on all the fun”. Can I just make it clear, I don’t think this applies to road rules. Maybe it does to parking restrictions but not road rules per se. As much as I love driving at 220km/hour, I understand that if not for myself, I shouldn’t do it simply because it’s not nice to maim or kill others. I’m not entirely clear why people here don’t seem to understand that road rules are there to protect them, not just to fill up statute books.
They may be excellent precision drivers that can handle a j-turn between two lanes of moving traffic at the speed of light but frankly, that doesn’t account for the fact that Aunt Agnes will choose the precise moment they’re planning to hit the apex to turn right into the pathway and stall her 1957 trabant. People: road rules are there to help minimise the risk of damage to all of us. I don’t care how good a driver you are - just think of Ayrton Senna. And be real, you’re not as good as you think you are.
That brings me to concern number three: current fashions in the bureaucracy - you're not as efficient or effective as you think you are and risk management is not best achieved through risk avoidance.
In the last couple of weeks, I have been trying to organise some Polish documentation. Specifically, this all relates to my Polish passport, which has now expired. If I get it renewed by the Consulate in Australia, the amount of paperwork involved would harm the environment, so I thought I’d give it a go here. In theory, all I need for a passport to be issued here is a national identity card. These are free and are easy to obtain with a PESEL (a unique, personal identifying number issued by the government). While I can’t remember living here, I did and so I have one of these numbers. Should be easy right? Have number, get ID card, apply for passport. Yes, in a logical universe where bureaucrats don’t exist it would have been easy. Unfortunately, the whole thing has been so protracted, difficult and full of catch-22s that I (and my two assistants) have had to start taking medication to lower our blood pressure.
It would take many pages to fully explain the details and you wouldn’t believe the events as I described them anyway but let’s just say that between the “computer says no” attitude, an alarming lack of understanding amongst ‘expert’ staff of the statues they are administering and a phenomenal culture of risk aversion, getting anything done is near to impossible. Not everyone we met was an incompetent nincompoop but the shining lights of helpfulness were few and very far between. Three cheers for the man in the passport office who actually found evidence of my existence and two cheers for the kind lady in the ID office who agreed to accept my application for an ID in advance of a copy of birth certificate being provided. Some of my favourite interactions included the following (poetic license used sparingly but applied for brevity).
Scene: the regional office for citizens affairs (I wish it was all about citizens having affairs but alas, it’s not nearly as interesting). We were sent there by the local authority who insisted I had to prove that I was a Polish citizen in order to secure a minor amendment to some existing paperwork. We weren’t able to work out why exactly, but in the end decided that if they needed a document proving I was a citizen (evidently a local birth certificate and recently expired Polish passport and entire family locally registered were not sufficient evidence of citizenship) it was easier just to get it. So there we are, asking the lady about proof of citizenship once the very helpful man in the passport office suggested we may not need the document in question at all.
Us: So what exactly does a proof of citizenship give me? Why would I need it?
Lady: A proof of citizenship gives you evidence that you are a citizen. You need it to prove you’re a citizen - nothing else can substitute.
Us: So a birth certificate, passport and PESEL number aren’t sufficient proof?
Lady: None of those things prove citizenship.
(at this point we are confused - most normal people would assume you couldn’t get a passport or unique national identifier unless the issuing authority agreed you were actually a citizen and therefore entitled to one - to get either one of those things, the list of evidence does not require a proof of citizenship....go figure....)
Us: (sighing loudly) OK, so what exactly do those things do if not prove citizenship? In what circumstances would you have those things and not be a citizen?
Lady: (looking irritated) You don’t need to know such things. And I’m sure I don’t know all the possible circumstances. We take your application, search our files, write to the consulate in Sydney to check their files and then we issue you with a decision.
(right, excellent - I now have full faith in the system. Thanks for that.)
Scene: the local authority, responsible for most documentation relating to identity, residence etc. We are trying to find out what we need to do to get my documents issued. They insist that I do not exist. Bear in mind that the documents they need are the same documents they are supposed to hold.
Lady: No, I’m sorry, you don’t exist in our system.
Us: But that’s impossible - I appear in my mother’s passport, which could not have happened if I wasn’t written into her ID card, which had to have been done by the local authority. You must have a record somewhere in the archive.
Lady: No, we don’t.
Us: How can you explain the passport then?
Lady: I wouldn’t know, but obviously you did not register at birth and there is no record of your existence in this local authority.
Us: Given that both my parents are recorded and I am in my mother’s passport and you have all the evidence of our leaving date, can you not add the record to be correct now? Since it would have been impossible for me not to be registered given the circumstances of the day, it’s obviously an administrative error made at some stage by the authority. Can’t you correct it?
Lady: No, you’ll have to go to the central registry in Warsaw for that. They’ll look at your case and decide whether and where to register you.
(2 hours later after the helpful man in the passport office discovered that I did after all exist and was indeed registered, albeit at the wrong address)
Lady: Yes, well, you are registered but we can’t process the paperwork because I’m going home shortly.
Us: but it’s 3pm and the authority is open until 6pm - isn’t there someone else that can help us?
Lady: No, I’m afraid all the staff in this section leave at 3. You’ll have to come back another day.
This is obviously both a shortened version of events and edited dialogue but I hope you have a sense of the sheer lunacy. Now let me suggest some possible causes. There is a very real possibility, the women in question were incompetent and by their nature unhelpful. I think that's obviously true but since I like to theorise, let's play with another annoying current fashion in Polish bureacracy: risk management.
Risk management in Polish bureaucracy is front and centre at present. Unfortunately, it’s less about management and more about avoidance. Senior bureaucrats are held materially responsible for matters in their jurisdiction. This means that if something goes wrong on their watch, they can be personally fined enormous sums of money (not to mention obvious things like job loss, loss of reputation etc). I bet there are a bunch of people thinking "hoorah, finally the fat cats get their comeuppance and get held accountable". Perhaps. But consider this - in public policy, nothing is more certain than the fact that bureaucrats rarely control outcomes.
Even decisions made in accordance with statutes, well established policies and good sense sometimes have surprising consequences. Take the example of a waste tax. Several countries have introduced waste taxes - the more you throw away, the more you pay. This is consistent with the long established ‘polluter pays’ principle, rewards those who do the right thing in minimising their waste and should encourage a reduction in waste by everyone over time. We all know, people don’t like to pay tax and this scheme allows them not to pay. All they have to do is minimise their waste, which naturally, will have environmental benefits. Or will it? In several of those countries where it was introduced originally, the waste tax has now been scrapped as it led to some unexpected consequences. For example, a massive increase in food being disposed in drains (which created enormous costs for the waste-water management utilities) and backyard burning (which created enormous air pollution problems).
Most public policy decisions, even those designed to restrict or control, are made with the fundamental assumption that once the rule is put in place, people will do the ‘right’ thing. And often they do - I’m not battering the optimistic view that most people are good at their core. However, as economists tell us, people are creatures that react to incentives. The trouble with most public policy is that we don’t explore incentives sufficiently. In particular, we seem to ignore the need to thoroughly search out perverse incentives. Like my lovely ladies described above. Not only do they not have any incentives to actually be helpful (clearly no one told them they are working in customer service role and they continue to get paid whether they help me and I have a good experience or not), there are massive disincentives in place in the form of material responsibility for risk. I can argue that rectifying what is clearly an administrative mistake made some time during computerisation is low-risk but if it was my money and job on the line, would I feel the same? Hmmmm....something to think about.
Monday, 16 May 2011
The Fifth Country in Four weeks
I’m currently in Poland, the land of my birth. There’s much I could write about it - I’m not sure where to start.
I’m here to visit family, who are always hospitable and enormous fun. Life revolves around meal times, which are charecterized by large numbers of people and tables groaning under the weight of food. It doesn’t take more than a couple of days before I feel like groaning under the weight of eating so much of it. I should have done my detox in Bali after Poland!
The country changes rapidly and it seems that every time I come, major things have changed. Not surprising perhaps - when you don’t see a person or a place for an extended period, changes are easy to spot. Just call me Captain Obvious.
Some of the differences I’ve noticed this trip include the presence of English in every day speech. I gave one of my cousins ear-rings, which she declared to be “the best”. This may not seem like a big deal to those who speak English but please remember that this is a country that 15 years ago didn’t have a McDonalds. It’s still a country where people fear draughts (wind, not the game or the drink) and where you are just as likely to get abuse as customer service if you visit a shop or a hotel. OK, that last bit was a slight exaggeration - customer service is generally pretty good but the old attitude is still present in places. However, now, as well as McDonalds, shopping centres and new apartments on every corner, there is an extraordinary prevalence of English in every day life.
Technology is responsible for much of it - ‘click’ is used rather than a Polish word that means click - but there are lots of other words appearing too: hot, top, the best, design, serum, to name just a few. It’s hard to explain exactly why this is freaking me out but let me give it a go. Having grown up in Australia, I didn’t often hear other people speaking Polish. When I did hear it in random places, it was always a bit of a shock. Whenever I get to Poland, it always takes me a few days to adjust to the fact that everyone is speaking a language I’m not used to anyone understanding. Not to mention the fact that my name is a dime a dozen and it takes me ages to adjust to not turning around and responding when someone says it. Now, I also have an additional shock that I hear people speaking Polish and then with increasing frequency, a Polish-ized English word appears. This is probably not that interesting but this evolution of language and my experience with it is occupying quite a bit of my brain. Clearly I don’t have enough other things to worry about!
So, if you have any problems that need solving, send them to me to resolve - I clearly have brain space a-plenty.
When I get to a quicker internet connection I will upload photos from the area around my Grandma’s house (where I’m currently staying) and Warsaw (where I went last week to lodge my Brazilian visa application).
Love you all and consider it a blessing that you aren't as vexed as I am about something as inoffensive as language.
I’m here to visit family, who are always hospitable and enormous fun. Life revolves around meal times, which are charecterized by large numbers of people and tables groaning under the weight of food. It doesn’t take more than a couple of days before I feel like groaning under the weight of eating so much of it. I should have done my detox in Bali after Poland!
The country changes rapidly and it seems that every time I come, major things have changed. Not surprising perhaps - when you don’t see a person or a place for an extended period, changes are easy to spot. Just call me Captain Obvious.
Some of the differences I’ve noticed this trip include the presence of English in every day speech. I gave one of my cousins ear-rings, which she declared to be “the best”. This may not seem like a big deal to those who speak English but please remember that this is a country that 15 years ago didn’t have a McDonalds. It’s still a country where people fear draughts (wind, not the game or the drink) and where you are just as likely to get abuse as customer service if you visit a shop or a hotel. OK, that last bit was a slight exaggeration - customer service is generally pretty good but the old attitude is still present in places. However, now, as well as McDonalds, shopping centres and new apartments on every corner, there is an extraordinary prevalence of English in every day life.
Technology is responsible for much of it - ‘click’ is used rather than a Polish word that means click - but there are lots of other words appearing too: hot, top, the best, design, serum, to name just a few. It’s hard to explain exactly why this is freaking me out but let me give it a go. Having grown up in Australia, I didn’t often hear other people speaking Polish. When I did hear it in random places, it was always a bit of a shock. Whenever I get to Poland, it always takes me a few days to adjust to the fact that everyone is speaking a language I’m not used to anyone understanding. Not to mention the fact that my name is a dime a dozen and it takes me ages to adjust to not turning around and responding when someone says it. Now, I also have an additional shock that I hear people speaking Polish and then with increasing frequency, a Polish-ized English word appears. This is probably not that interesting but this evolution of language and my experience with it is occupying quite a bit of my brain. Clearly I don’t have enough other things to worry about!
So, if you have any problems that need solving, send them to me to resolve - I clearly have brain space a-plenty.
When I get to a quicker internet connection I will upload photos from the area around my Grandma’s house (where I’m currently staying) and Warsaw (where I went last week to lodge my Brazilian visa application).
Love you all and consider it a blessing that you aren't as vexed as I am about something as inoffensive as language.
Tuesday, 10 May 2011
Ireland is a Beautiful Place but I Have Bigger Problems
Ireland really is a beautiful island. Both the North and the Republic are inundated with beautiful countryside and blessed with people who love to tell a long story, love to sing and thankfully have such charming accents that visitors are drawn in to enjoy both.
Given how much I’ve inadequately waxed lyrical about the beauty of places I’ve visited so far, I’ll let the photos convince you I’m telling the truth about Ireland (TO BE LOADED LATER). For the singing, you’ll have to check out facebook - when I get to an internet connection that moves faster than molasses, I’ll upload some video from a pub Joy and I drank at in Donegal (or is that drunk in at Donegal?). I know all of you will be as thrilled as I was that the entertainer loved country music. Stop sneering - you know who you are - and find your inner Texan. It’s present in all of us, stop fighting and embrace it.
Anyway, because I can’t spend yet another page running out of adjectives (by the way, did you know that the plural of thesaurus is thesauri?) to describe the gifts nature has bestowed on the local geography, I will instead tell you about one of those small things that drives me absolutely BATTY when I travel.
Take a guess as to what it might be. Go on. Customer service? Hotels? Not being able to speak the local language? Having to move around all the time? Living out of a suitcase? Not having all my shoes to hand? Queues in aiports? No, no, no, no, no, no, yes but not for the purposes of today’s blog. What really, really, really drives me BATTY when I travel is showers. Or, more particularly, the vagaries of showers in different places. From problems with drainage, to poor pressure, to lack of hot water, to water so hard it slices skin, to spouts that require you to run around to get wet, the lack of a normal, easy to operate, hot, well-pressured shower reduces me to tears with alarming frequency.
When they say its the simple things in life that make us happy, they were talking about a good shower. So, for those of you that have been envying my travels and wishing you were with me, please right now, go into your bathroom and enjoy a long, hot shower and truly appreciate the joy of it, knowing that if you were travelling like me, you’d be risking freezing to death, slipping over and breaking a hip just to get dribbled on before drowning courtesy of a blocked shower drain.
When I find enough time in between moaning about it, I’m going to start an international movement lobbying to standardise showers across the world. Australia really is the lucky country - it’s time we share our good fortune with the world and show them how showers are supposed to be.
Peace out.
Given how much I’ve inadequately waxed lyrical about the beauty of places I’ve visited so far, I’ll let the photos convince you I’m telling the truth about Ireland (TO BE LOADED LATER). For the singing, you’ll have to check out facebook - when I get to an internet connection that moves faster than molasses, I’ll upload some video from a pub Joy and I drank at in Donegal (or is that drunk in at Donegal?). I know all of you will be as thrilled as I was that the entertainer loved country music. Stop sneering - you know who you are - and find your inner Texan. It’s present in all of us, stop fighting and embrace it.
Anyway, because I can’t spend yet another page running out of adjectives (by the way, did you know that the plural of thesaurus is thesauri?) to describe the gifts nature has bestowed on the local geography, I will instead tell you about one of those small things that drives me absolutely BATTY when I travel.
Take a guess as to what it might be. Go on. Customer service? Hotels? Not being able to speak the local language? Having to move around all the time? Living out of a suitcase? Not having all my shoes to hand? Queues in aiports? No, no, no, no, no, no, yes but not for the purposes of today’s blog. What really, really, really drives me BATTY when I travel is showers. Or, more particularly, the vagaries of showers in different places. From problems with drainage, to poor pressure, to lack of hot water, to water so hard it slices skin, to spouts that require you to run around to get wet, the lack of a normal, easy to operate, hot, well-pressured shower reduces me to tears with alarming frequency.
When they say its the simple things in life that make us happy, they were talking about a good shower. So, for those of you that have been envying my travels and wishing you were with me, please right now, go into your bathroom and enjoy a long, hot shower and truly appreciate the joy of it, knowing that if you were travelling like me, you’d be risking freezing to death, slipping over and breaking a hip just to get dribbled on before drowning courtesy of a blocked shower drain.
When I find enough time in between moaning about it, I’m going to start an international movement lobbying to standardise showers across the world. Australia really is the lucky country - it’s time we share our good fortune with the world and show them how showers are supposed to be.
Peace out.
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