Stephen Wills of Adelaide fame has visited me in the last couple of days and he and I have been discussing the numerous quirks we have encountered in our travels. One of the great joys of traveling is discovering new perspectives and new ideas. With that, comes the necessary discovery of various local quirks. Often these are trivial matters but as they usually provide a few moments of entertainment, I might as well share them.
For example, toilet paper in this country is not flushed down the toilet. It’s deposited in a bin next to the toilet. Wipe and chuck, not wipe and flush lest you block the drains.
Time is a relative. Stephen and I went to the ballet on Friday at the stunning Belle Epoque Theatro Municipal for an 8pm performance that started at around 8.20-ish. My dance classes yesterday were in theory from 4.30 to 5.30 and then 5.30 to 6.30. The last class actually finished minutes before 7.30. Bed time for children is whenever they feel like it, except on Wednesdays when it is mandatorily later than usual because of the futebol. On Wednesdays no one sleeps. Not just the cariocas for whom futebol is a religious experience but also us indifferent tourists who have learned that trying to sleep in the face of the cheering and fireworks is futile. Lucky for me I have a stunning view of the city and can at least watch the fireworks from my hammock.
The word for ‘hi’ is ‘oi’. It’s also used for getting the attention of waiters and such. When you walk down the street and someone exclaims a spirited “oi” they aren’t being rude or marking a prelude to a stern talking to (as I thought for the first few days). This one is taking some getting used to.
As in many countries where the government does not rule with an iron fist of regulations, driving is more a game of survival of the fittest than just getting from A to B. Speed restrictions, road rules and staying in one lane are optional extras. Indicating with limbs protruding out of vehicles is not unusual. On the upside, less regulations mean that you don’t have to wear a seatbelt in the back (oh, goody, in an accident I get to die and maybe kill the driver in the process) and you can ride a bicycle without a helmet. It seems ironic that the places where you can do things with impunity are exactly the kinds of places you wouldn’t really want to do them precisely because everybody else is also doing everything else with impunity.
While it is nice to be out of a nanny state, I do appreciate some of the benefits of having rules, regulations and taxes. Footpaths are an obvious benefit (even in Adelaide where they are responsible for more early shoe retirements than bad manufacturing and the vagaries of fashion combined). Here, the footpaths are frequently cobbled or so patched they might as well be cobbled, very narrow, interrupted by large-diameter electricity poles and neighboured by streets where bus drivers seem to make it a personal mission to get close enough to trim your nose hairs. Needless to say, high heels are not an option. Havianas are not just worn because Giselle made them cool and they are cheap, they are worn largely for practical purposes. Stilettos are strictly inside shoes.
Which brings me to cheese. Cheese is unusual here. For some reason, there is an illogical obsession with the Dutch and Swiss-style sweeter varieties. Cheddar does not exist here. The common approach to cheese here seems to be to pile it on thick. Maybe they hope that if your mouth is globbed closed by lots of it, you won’t be able to complain about how bad it tastes.
On the upside, the BBQ restaurants where they bring enormous skewers of charred animal to your table to be sliced onto your plate by machete-wielding waiters are excellent. While personally I prefer to be vegetarian, when in Rome I went Roman for a meal to try the local fare. Must be said I wasn’t sorry. It was delicious.
As well as being able to justify bad food choices, there are other perks to being a tourist. Clubs and bars here come with door charges as a means of paying for the very excellent bands that play. I thought it was normal to pay said charge. Unless you’re Stephen Wills. Then you just say no. Rio can’t be as violent as the guide books say if they let him get away with that sort of thing.
Stay tuned for more adventures - next week I return to Paraty for a jazz and blues festival.
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