Things that wouldn't cut it in the US - Såo Paulo

This is a sign up at the local community center. It's a notice about becoming part of the Guarda Civil Metropolitana which is maybe like the National Guard, except its for the city and really they only watch out for "patrimonial" stuff like schools and statues and so on.  Personally I find the salary of R$1377 a month a little on the light side ($595USD a month to get shot at. Umm, no).  

But that's not what drew my eye. It was something two lines below, and unfortunately it is blurry in this smartphone shot. It says they have jobs for 1400 men and 600 women. Ummm, could we do that in the US? Do we say that we have spaces for 1400 men in our police forces and 600 women? I don't think we can do that...I think that might be called discrimination...but I'll let someone tell me if this would cut it or no. 

I think not.

i'm lovin' it - São Paulo

Photo credit: Erica Winter

Not sure what McDonald's corporate would think of this one, but here is one of my favorite scenes outside of Pacaembu, the municipal soccer stadium. First of all, this type of van cracks me up. It's like a shrinky-dink normal size van. Like it's been left in the dryer too long.

Second of all, the complete lack of shame in working over McDonald's logo and naming rights. And of course the fact that this little mobile hot dog stand accepts Visa and Mastercard. 

Scenes from a (very good) life.

Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain - São Paulo

This is from a fellow blogger's blog but for privacy (his kids) I'll leave off the credit.

Yesterday morning as I drove my husband to a meeting (told you I was in charge of the motor pool), I did a double take as I passed by Shopping Iguatemi, one of the fancy shopping centers in São Paulo. At this time of year, the same ol' Santa gets trotted out--he is ginormous. At least one story tall. And he normally has a yellow labrador sitting at his feet.

Yesterday morning they were there (wait, what's the date again? I think it's November 8 when I saw it. Wow). Wearing yellow rain slickers. It's been raining for the last five days in the city and apparently even Santa and Santa Dog don't like the wet. I laughed so hard I almost rear-ended a bus which was not so amusing to my husband.

Also not my photo. Fortunately the person put her own credit on there.

Merry Christmas!

Putting rubber to the road - São Paulo

Borracharia. Not mine. Photo credit: www.flickr.com

I have a love-hate relationship with my husband's car. Mostly hate. It is a 2008 Volvo XC90, a reasonably large SUV by Brazilian standards (a car we had bought used from BH's old company). By American standards, it's medium-sized.  I find it hard to drive in São Paulo's smaller streets and don't even get me started on how it is to park the boat. But it does fit seven people and that gets to be important when traveling with our two kids plus my stepkids plus the occasional labrador or two. It is also bullet-proofed in the old very heavy technology. I only drive it when I have to.

And when I have to is whenever it needs service. Only about six months ago, my husband informed me that I was in charge of the cars. They were my responsibility. So when there was a tire going flat yesterday, I was in charge of getting it fixed.  First up: find the "borracharia", literally speaking the rubber place. Figuratively speaking, it is the tire repair shop. If you have seen my post from Joanopolis, you will know that this is always an adventure. My husband tells me that I have to go to a certain tire shop because only there they have a "macarrão" (pasta) that will work on blindado tires. Which part of the previous sentence made any sense to you? Yeah, me too.

When I pulled up at the gas station that, according to BH, had a "borracharia", I could not see any "tire place". So I asked one of the station attendants and he pointed to the dark interior of a garage. I finally noticed the piles of tires there and a stout older man with a red Shell cap (we were at a BP station).  I greeted him and showed him the tire and he said, okay let's see what we've got. He loosened the tire thingies (see how smart and technical I am with car stuff?--good thing my husband put me in charge), lit a cigarette (one has to have priorities) and then put a red lifter-upper thingy under the car and started the "mechanical lift"--that would be him, the mid-50s, possibly 60 year old tire guy. I told him the car was bulletproofed and very heavy. He said, roughly, "yeah, yeah."

Finally he got the tire off the car and rolled it over to a chipped bathtub filled with dirty water. And dunked it in. Is this how we check for leaks in the US? I don't know. When I have had a flat tire in the US, AAA comes, takes off the bad tire, then I go to Costco and get a good tire, and we all go on about our days. Anyway, he dunks the tire in, and rotates it around and then says "aha, there it is" when little air bubbles appear from a previously-patched spot.

Bathtime for the Pirelli

As I am looking at this tire, I am thinking--wow, it looks like crap. Pieces of the tread missing, worn down etc. I ask him what he thinks of the car tire--he says it looks pretty good to him and he is going to try to repair again the spot. He gets a sharp screwdriver-type tool, and a piece of rubber that looks like a 3 inch worm (the famous "macarrão" or pasta) and proceeds to stuff the rubber worm in the hole. I wonder to myself how this is going to work. And he keeps stuffing it in until he says "well, that should do it" and walks over to the air blower and starts pumping up the tire. I am standing there with my mouth open thinking "a rubber worm in the hole is the solution?" what? I am driving this car 3 hours to the fazenda with a worm in the tire? And how many other people are driving around with wormy pasta-y tires? Yikes.

And then he dunks the tire back into the bathtub again to see if more bubbles escape. One or two do so he says "nope, I think I'm going to have to repair it from the inside."  At this point, I have decided that I don't want to know what kind of tires I am actually driving on, and say I'm going to go to the supermarket next door and will be right back. And then I have the nerve to ask him "so...seems things are pretty bad on this tire. How many kilometers do you think I have left on it?" And he immediately answers "it's fine. I would say around 15,000 kms (9,300 miles)". Folks, there are whole chunks of rubber missing on that Pirelli.  What?

So I go to the supermarket next door and down a gallon of wine (Gallo hearty burgundy--oops sorry, I just completely zoned out for a moment)...no I get a panettone and some cilantro over at Carrefour (don't ask) and head back to the gas station. As I stand there waiting for my bill, I get nuzzled on the back of my knee. I look down and there is the dirtiest most beautiful dog ever. And he wants to come home with me. The tire guy says the dog's name is Lobo, or Wolf, but he looks nothing like a wolf. He looks like a husky-border mix. Apparently tire guy adopted the street dog about 7 years ago, and he thinks the dog is now around 15.Kindness comes in all forms, even a red Shell cap.

Anyway, the price for 20 minutes labor on my rubber-wormed and bathed tire? R$20. US $8. Love. Don't think too much about how it was repaired, okay? I'm sure it will be fine.

I'm halfway! - São Paulo

Photo credit: http://glasschild.deviantart.com/art/half-an-eye-49990798

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This is Post 184 which means I'm halfway through my year of daily posts on Brazil in My Eyes. Does that mean I can take the day off? Hardly. So much to see, so much to hear, so much to learn. 

When I started this blog in May, I was worried about not having enough to talk about daily for the year. Now I am worried about having too much to say. Most of all, I have to say, this blog has been for me. I have had more than 13,000 views of the page in six months (some poor souls undoubtedly finding themselves in the wrong place), so I am guessing someone IS really reading it besides my mom and dad and poor BH who has to make sure I haven't said something totally insulting about him every day. 

But in the end it is me who has learned. From doing my own research or from questions or comments from you. While I wish I got more comments on the page, I do get quite a few on the facebook site and I appreciate every one.

Keep me honest. Keep me learning. Let's keep going for six more months? I'm in. You?

How much for that doggy in the window? It depends... São Paulo

Yesterday I went to the bookstore with my son to find some new books in Portuguese. I tend to import my books in English from the US (in a heavy suitcase) but we are forced to pay the big bucks for Portuguese books here in Brazil. While we are looking at the books, I let my son (age 6) choose one himself. He immediately asks "how much is it?" (money is getting to be more interesting to him now that he has some from tooth fairy and grandmas). And I look over the book from stem to stern and there is no price. Of course not! I know that!

Nothing in this country has a price written on it. Okay, HUGE exaggeration, but true in bookstores for the most part. Magazines do have prices probably because they have a shelf life. So every time you find a book that looks interesting, and scarily expensive, you need to head over to one of the bar code readers. There is no price on the shelf. There is no price on the book. And as that little red zappy light is reading (or if you're like me and apparently have no hand-eye coordination and have to move the bar code around 50 times) the bar code, you start to get anxious on whether or not the price will come back as 8 million reais. Could it be taking that long because it has to read all the zeroes? 

And then the price finally pops up -- in this case, the book is a pretty reasonable US$12. But then my son decides he doesn't want that one, because it doesn't have enough predators in it so you're off again on the mystery ship of book prices.

Many stores here (not all) have this kind of price check system. I am not sure if this dates back to the days of inflation. During the hyperinflation decade (1987-1997), price increases were more than 40% a MONTH. Your savings would decline by 2000% a year. You had to cart around bucketloads of money to pay for bread. I was not here in those years and I can only imagine the chaos this bred, and not only on the bookshelves.

But it's 2013. It's 6% inflation. Can we put a price on something? 

Porta-malas and guarda-people - São Paulo

Folha de São Paulo, Cotidiano, 4 November 2013

Call yourselves fortunate this morning because I am so flabbergasted by the Conseg (neighborhood security association) meeting last night that I cannot even post on it yet. Too much good stuff, it boggles the mind. For instance, it turns out my little neighborhood association of 250 houses  just funded the local police station to take a shooting practice course this past weekend. What? Yes, the neighborhood funded target shooting. Weird.

Anyway, peripherally, I am going to talk about the police (but very carefully now that I know they are expert marksmen). I was reading the paper yesterday morning when I noticed this photo in the upper right corner of the metro section. It is of a white-crime suspect (not a minor one either: "detouring" US$250 million in public funds into his pocket) being loaded into the trunk of a police SUV. Not the back seat, the trunk.

This is the second time I have seen this phenomenon of suspect in the trunk (sorry, "boot" for my Brit readers). The first time I saw it, there seemed to be a reason for putting the suspect in the trunk. While at a Palmeiras game a couple of months ago, my teen stepdaughter and I watched as a very drunk man was dumped out of the back of a police vehicle at the holding cell at the bottom of the toboggan seating section (don't ask). Literally dumped on the ground with 10 policemen standing around watching. I figured he was in the trunk because he was either feisty or prone to puking.

So, of course I have to seek the counsel of the BH*. Why don't suspects get to sit in the back seat? Is it normal to tote people around in the trunk? Yes, as it turns out. Because the police vehicle is the ROTA. Ready for the acronym explanation? Ronda Ostensivas Tobias de Aguiar...ROTA. They are, according to wikipedia, "used in the need to control civil unrest,  restoration of public order, tactical attack and defense of urban areas." It's special forces, folks. They are the bad ****** (whoo, that's a lot of stars but BH insists I stop swearing) of the police force. And what about this Tobias de Aguiar? Lemme see...why, he is the founder of the Military Police in 1831 when they were still known as the Imperial Guard. Cool. 

Here is a fully staffed ROTA vehicle:

Choque= Shock. Pronounced "Shocky" which makes it sound cute, but it's not. Photo credit: www.saopaulo.sp.gov.br

So, you can see that there are four police men in the car, one of them plainsclothes, but all of them armed and pretty crabby-looking. No room for bad guys in the car--only in the trunk. The trunk is known as a "porta-malas" in Portuguese, or "where to carry your suitcases". Perhaps it should be known as a "guarda-povo", or "where to put your people" if you drive a ROTA SUV. They are nice SUVs and more roomy since 2011 when they changed out Chevy Blazers for Toyota Hiluxes (I think these are Forerunners in the US?). I have no personal knowledge of the roominess.

Double checking the suspect cells in the back. Photo credit: www.saopaulo.sp.gov.br

And while I was looking around for info on ROTA, I also found this, a picture of their battalion headquarters (I have to say "battalion" just sounds so much more impressive than police station in the US--military stuff is cool). Nice place. Just don't want to visit it in the trunk.

ROTA Battalion headquarters. Photo credit: wikipedia

In my head, I start hearing the theme for COPS...Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do when they come for you?...but if you've ever seen these guys on the way to an "event", you will start singing it too. Usually all four windows rolled down, black berets on, killer glares in place, large automatic weapons on show. If that's not deterrence, I don't know what is.


*BH=Brazilian husband