Today was a day to forget. We had an appointment to sort out the second half of our visas. This involved having our fingerprints taken and getting our “RNE” number. This entitles us to get our permanent visas for Brazil, open bank accounts, start to pay taxes and as far as Steve is concerned, the most important of all, joining the golf club.
To give you some back ground. Normally, after getting the first part of the visa, (the CPF) , (which we did in March, in New York, ) you arrive back and present yourself to the Federal Police about a week later to get the RNE part.
(Steve says I have not quite got the technicalities right - but why spoil a good story with the facts?)
Well, it turns out that staff at the Federal police had been selling RNE numbers for a not inconsiderable fee and having been found out, were sacked. The ones that hadn’t been involved in this racket then came out on strike to support the ones that had. The result is that having got our first part in March, we had an appointment to get the second part at the end of June. Trouble is, you can’t leave the country without getting the second, and as I am off to the States tomorrow, and Steve on Saturday, we needed to get the RNE sorted.
So this morning, we made an emergency appointment to get fingerprinted etc etc.
The day actually started well. The discussion with Marcelo went something along the lines, “Marcelo, how long to get to the Federal police?” The reply, “About 2 hours”. “Solange,” ( Steve’s secretary.) “How long to get to the Federal police?” “About 45 miniutes”. We compromised, allowed about an hour and a bit, and we arrived at 8.30, half an hour early for our appointment.
The trouble started when Sergio, (relief and trainee driver) parked in front of the café opposite the Federal police building, blocking the entrance to a car park. A bit daft to say the least and the cashier of the car park started gesticulating and shouting, leaving no doubt as to his meaning. Marcelo & Sergio disappeared with the car whilst we headed to the café to wait. The next time I saw them, Marcelo was wearing his bullet proof vest – not a good start.
We apologized to the garage owner, who also happened to own the café where we were having breakfast and waited for the lawyer.
BMS had paid a lawyer to basically expedite the process. As it turns out, they need not have bothered. The lawyer arrived, we checked in and deposited our papers and were told that the process basically entailed signing a document ( 20 minutes to a one hour wait) followed by fingerprints with a further 1 – 3 hour wait. ( Average time 2 hours). So we waited, and waited and waited.
The lawyer announced that after 2 and a half hours, she was off to other meetings but would leave her side kick to look after us and to do any translating. The side kick had started working for the lawyer on Monday so had about as much idea of the process as we did.
Well. It turns out that today was a bit of an unusual day. There were very few people on duty and the place was absolutely heaving. About a year ago the Brazilian government gave an amnesty to Bolivian illegal immigrants to become legal, so the place was literally full of Bolivians. Wives and children in tow. Then on Wednesdays in particular it is “Mormon” day and the local Mormon Temple bring literally bus loads of what can only be described as pilgrims who are on temporary visas to get their fingerprints done.
By 3 pm (and we were still waiting to sign the first piece of paper (20 minute wait)) the fat lady sang. Or to be more presice,the fat lady screamed. It turns out that this woman had been in the queue since 12 o’ clock to deposit her papers. At around 12.15 a sign went up to say that the counter clerk would be back by 1 pm. In fact the sign didn’t get taken down until 2.15 , by which time the line was almost out of the building. Then, at 3 pm, the shutter went down and no more people were to be checked in that day. It turns out that the fat lady, was 8 months pregnant and was the next in line when the shutter went down. Having been standing for 3 hours, only to be told that she was not going to be processed, she totally lost it. And I mean “lost it”. Joan Sutherland would have been given a run for her money. The entire place heard what she was saying. Even the two of us who are still struggling to understand Portuguese knew exactly what was going on. More police arrived and bullet proof vests were definitely the order of the day.
So by 4.30 we still hadn’t signed the pieces of paper that we should have signed 20 minutes after our arrival. The lawyer by now had returned from her meetings or shopping trips and was in serious danger of losing face.
Steve, having started the day in a pretty calm manner, and having cancelled all his meetings was beginning to become concerned. After all, the golf club membership was on the line here. I was still okay but worried that the dog had been sitting cross legged for 9 hours.
Steve finally called his secretary who in turn called the head of security.
Here is where “ it’s not what you know but who you know” takes precedence. It turns out that the head of BMS security knows several people in the Federal Police. I have no idea who he called or what favours he called in. All I know is that within about 5 minutes we were having our finger prints taken. We bypassed the stage about signing various documents and because it was so sudden, we were totally taken aback and all I saw were two UK passports being waved in the air and the names “Su-ee Mer-hickee” and “Shtee-hee Mer-hickee” being called. We clambered over everyone to get to the front of the line.
Thank you Solange and Pinheiro.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Odd Socks . Wednesday May 19, 2010
I remember years ago that my mother became very excited because she had a new vacuum cleaner. I distinctly remember at the time thinking “how sad”. The fact that it was a vacuum cleaner that caused her so much pleasure, made me believe that her life was devoid of real enjoyment. Well Mum, now you can have the last laugh because I am now officially “sad” and by my own admission.
Last Friday my new washing machine was plumbed in (thank you Marcelo – what would I do without you) and today my tumble dryer was hooked up. I was so happy. Up until now I have done without a tumble dryer so everything that has been washed has had to be line dried. This was fine when the outdoor temperature was high, and humidity notwithstanding, drying was not a problem.
Now that the weather has turned much colder and it is still pretty damp, getting things dry had been proving to be rather more difficult. Add into the equation, the fact that the laundry room still floods every time it rains and last week I discovered that the base of the cabinets have become completely rotten from all the water, and the smell of mould in there is so bad that I can’t leave anything in there without it acquiring a pretty disgusting whiff. That has meant line drying everything on racks in the kitchen. Just as well there are only two of us. Much more laundry and you wouldn’t be able to turn around without bumping into a rack.
So today, I dried my first load in the dryer. It is huge, American and swallowed a load of laundry in no time at all – bliss.
I have had a washing machine for all the time that we have been in the house, - it was rented of course and I was very happy to see the back of it. It was Brazilian; and had 4 settings – soak, wash and rinse and spin. There was nothing as sophisticated as hot/warm/cold water or fast/medium/slow spin. And as for delicates or hand wash – forget it. However the worse thing about it was the fact that it made the most awful noise. It was a top loader with an agitating arm sticking up from the bottom. Every time this arm moved it made a sort of high pitched EEEEEEE sort of noise. It was so annoying but having spoken to several other people, it seems, this is perfectly normal. So, having an American front loader with programmable choices of wash is absolute bliss. Again I say, how sad.
But here is the crux of this blog. What is it about tumble dryers that produce odd socks? So far, since being here I have washed pairs of socks. They go through the EEEEEE machine and come out the other side, get dried and paired up and then put back in the correct sock drawer.
When we were living in the US, I had an entire drawer devoted to odd socks. You can guarantee that the day I decided that the sock had been there long enough and it was never going to see its partner and threw it out, so its pair appeared – maddening.
Emma used to have a really annoying habit of coming down in the morning with no socks. When I told her to go and get some, she could never be bothered to go back upstairs and so would raid the odd sock drawer. Several days later those odd socks would make it through the wash ( well sometimes) and I would get very excited because I knew that there were odd ones waiting in the drawer to be paired up. How annoying to discover that it was Emma’s game of taking socks from the drawer. Little madam.
When we left to come to Brazil I threw the lot away. There must have been at least 15 maybe 20 socks that were never going to see their mate again. I was determined that starting afresh; I was never again going to have a drawer dedicated to odd socks.
Well, today as I have said, I did my first load of drying in my new dryer and guess what? There were 6 odd socks. Go figure.
Last Friday my new washing machine was plumbed in (thank you Marcelo – what would I do without you) and today my tumble dryer was hooked up. I was so happy. Up until now I have done without a tumble dryer so everything that has been washed has had to be line dried. This was fine when the outdoor temperature was high, and humidity notwithstanding, drying was not a problem.
Now that the weather has turned much colder and it is still pretty damp, getting things dry had been proving to be rather more difficult. Add into the equation, the fact that the laundry room still floods every time it rains and last week I discovered that the base of the cabinets have become completely rotten from all the water, and the smell of mould in there is so bad that I can’t leave anything in there without it acquiring a pretty disgusting whiff. That has meant line drying everything on racks in the kitchen. Just as well there are only two of us. Much more laundry and you wouldn’t be able to turn around without bumping into a rack.
So today, I dried my first load in the dryer. It is huge, American and swallowed a load of laundry in no time at all – bliss.
I have had a washing machine for all the time that we have been in the house, - it was rented of course and I was very happy to see the back of it. It was Brazilian; and had 4 settings – soak, wash and rinse and spin. There was nothing as sophisticated as hot/warm/cold water or fast/medium/slow spin. And as for delicates or hand wash – forget it. However the worse thing about it was the fact that it made the most awful noise. It was a top loader with an agitating arm sticking up from the bottom. Every time this arm moved it made a sort of high pitched EEEEEEE sort of noise. It was so annoying but having spoken to several other people, it seems, this is perfectly normal. So, having an American front loader with programmable choices of wash is absolute bliss. Again I say, how sad.
But here is the crux of this blog. What is it about tumble dryers that produce odd socks? So far, since being here I have washed pairs of socks. They go through the EEEEEE machine and come out the other side, get dried and paired up and then put back in the correct sock drawer.
When we were living in the US, I had an entire drawer devoted to odd socks. You can guarantee that the day I decided that the sock had been there long enough and it was never going to see its partner and threw it out, so its pair appeared – maddening.
Emma used to have a really annoying habit of coming down in the morning with no socks. When I told her to go and get some, she could never be bothered to go back upstairs and so would raid the odd sock drawer. Several days later those odd socks would make it through the wash ( well sometimes) and I would get very excited because I knew that there were odd ones waiting in the drawer to be paired up. How annoying to discover that it was Emma’s game of taking socks from the drawer. Little madam.
When we left to come to Brazil I threw the lot away. There must have been at least 15 maybe 20 socks that were never going to see their mate again. I was determined that starting afresh; I was never again going to have a drawer dedicated to odd socks.
Well, today as I have said, I did my first load of drying in my new dryer and guess what? There were 6 odd socks. Go figure.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Lost in Translation - 2. May 17 2010
I had my first trip to Rio de Janeiro this past weekend. I have to say that it was pretty amazing and although we were only there for 48 hours, it will definitely be on our list of places to revisit.
Steve, as usual was working, but was able to have some R & R on Saturday evening and on Sunday morning – bliss.
On Saturday evening, a colleague of Steve’s had recommended that we to go to a restaurant called Platforma, where, after dinner they have a show to give one the “flavor of Rio” This basically comprised young, lithe and very scantily clad women in Carnival dress performing all sorts of Samba routines with equally lithe and often not so young men. It was fun and entertaining but for anyone that has seen the real thing, a poor second.
But that is not the reason for the blog. I could tell you about Copacabana beach, Ipanema and sipping cocktails at the Copacabana Palace hotel, but what really caught my attention was the menu at the Platforma restaurant. Steve and I were perusing the menu trying to decide what to eat, and I swear that what you are about to read is 100 % true.
I have no idea who did the translating of the menu but the following is faithfully reproduced from the menu.
Take your pick from
Barbeque Sausage with heifer unit
Rice with bacon, sausage and jerked
Little steak with sauce vine
Pasta Mas
Scliced filet with petit pour with sauve vine
Pallete of Lamb
Special cut of meat prime
Ramp
Ribow cow
Salmon with rice and sunsire
Rice with galic potato
Fried potato with onion, garlicano han
Codfish style hulk.
Well, we fell about laughing to the point that people were beginning to stare at us. Now I know that my Portuguese is still pretty bad but I think that even I could have done a better attempt at translating the menu than whoever did it.
Suffice it to say, we didn’t try the Heifer unit.
Steve, as usual was working, but was able to have some R & R on Saturday evening and on Sunday morning – bliss.
On Saturday evening, a colleague of Steve’s had recommended that we to go to a restaurant called Platforma, where, after dinner they have a show to give one the “flavor of Rio” This basically comprised young, lithe and very scantily clad women in Carnival dress performing all sorts of Samba routines with equally lithe and often not so young men. It was fun and entertaining but for anyone that has seen the real thing, a poor second.
But that is not the reason for the blog. I could tell you about Copacabana beach, Ipanema and sipping cocktails at the Copacabana Palace hotel, but what really caught my attention was the menu at the Platforma restaurant. Steve and I were perusing the menu trying to decide what to eat, and I swear that what you are about to read is 100 % true.
I have no idea who did the translating of the menu but the following is faithfully reproduced from the menu.
Take your pick from
Barbeque Sausage with heifer unit
Rice with bacon, sausage and jerked
Little steak with sauce vine
Pasta Mas
Scliced filet with petit pour with sauve vine
Pallete of Lamb
Special cut of meat prime
Ramp
Ribow cow
Salmon with rice and sunsire
Rice with galic potato
Fried potato with onion, garlicano han
Codfish style hulk.
Well, we fell about laughing to the point that people were beginning to stare at us. Now I know that my Portuguese is still pretty bad but I think that even I could have done a better attempt at translating the menu than whoever did it.
Suffice it to say, we didn’t try the Heifer unit.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Hot water. Thursday May 13, 2010
If anyone ever says to me, “do you want the good news or the bad news first?” I always say “the good news”. Somehow, hearing good news first dilutes the bad, but if you get the bad news first, it drags down the good. This always works for me anyway.
So, first the good news. The furniture arrived last Monday and I am now in the tedious position of trying to find homes for all the things that we brought with us.
For everyone who has ever moved, there is the wonderment of discovering all those things that you own, and the bewilderment of thinking “why did I ever pack that”. Amongst the latter, a much chewed sock toy that the dog obviously hasn’t seen since she was a puppy seven years ago, nail varnish that is so old the top is permanently glued to the bottle, and my pet favourite, rubbish bins that actually contain rubbish. You would think that experienced packers would use a few brain cells and remove the rubbish before packing the bin, or at the very least ask whether I would like my rubbish wrapped, stored for two months and then shipped several thousand miles from the northern to the southern hemisphere. No such luck. Brain cells not engaged.
The other bit of good news is that with 8 or 9 guys unpacking (they never stood still long enough for me to count them) everything was unloaded, unwrapped, unboxed, unpacked and unceremoniously dumped onto every conceivable surface within 2 days. I have to say that this is pretty good going for two 40 foot containers. Furniture was assembled, beds made and all I have to do now is organize everything into some semblance of order.
Now for the bad news. For over a week now, (Thursday 6th May) we have had no hot water in the house. Steve announced this having discovered that the shower was cold when he stepped into it. We were moving out of the house anyway the following day, as the rental furniture was being removed and I knew that it would be at least Tuesday before we had sufficient organization of beds and bedding to enable us to move back in. Well that didn’t happened.
We have an odd hot water system here. We have solar panels on the roof that heat the water to a certain temperature and then what I assume is some sort of emersion heater to top up the temperature. So far, in the two months of living here it appears to have worked very well, until last week.
The guy to fix it was supposed to show up on Monday, but he was a “no show”. Similarly Tuesday, Wednesday and now at 5.00pm on Thursday I am not hopeful that he is going to show up today. The poor dog hasn’t been walked all week and although it is not a problem for me as I was planning on spending most of my days in the house anyway, I have to say it is now completely irritating. Steve is incandescent with anger and is threatening to withhold the rent until it is fixed.
Steve’s secretary has been calling the company every half hour to check that he is coming but after the 3 o’clock call the company have not been able to get in touch with the technician so who knows whether he is going to come. My money is on another no – show. Emails are being exchanged with the owner’s lawyers and in the meantime I am still sorting through my worldly goods, trying to find homes for everything.
But on a brighter note, the house warming party is being penciled in for June 19th by which time, pictures will be hung, the silver will be cleaned and I will have lost all those pounds that I have gained since being here. Assuming of course that we have hot water.
So, first the good news. The furniture arrived last Monday and I am now in the tedious position of trying to find homes for all the things that we brought with us.
For everyone who has ever moved, there is the wonderment of discovering all those things that you own, and the bewilderment of thinking “why did I ever pack that”. Amongst the latter, a much chewed sock toy that the dog obviously hasn’t seen since she was a puppy seven years ago, nail varnish that is so old the top is permanently glued to the bottle, and my pet favourite, rubbish bins that actually contain rubbish. You would think that experienced packers would use a few brain cells and remove the rubbish before packing the bin, or at the very least ask whether I would like my rubbish wrapped, stored for two months and then shipped several thousand miles from the northern to the southern hemisphere. No such luck. Brain cells not engaged.
The other bit of good news is that with 8 or 9 guys unpacking (they never stood still long enough for me to count them) everything was unloaded, unwrapped, unboxed, unpacked and unceremoniously dumped onto every conceivable surface within 2 days. I have to say that this is pretty good going for two 40 foot containers. Furniture was assembled, beds made and all I have to do now is organize everything into some semblance of order.
Now for the bad news. For over a week now, (Thursday 6th May) we have had no hot water in the house. Steve announced this having discovered that the shower was cold when he stepped into it. We were moving out of the house anyway the following day, as the rental furniture was being removed and I knew that it would be at least Tuesday before we had sufficient organization of beds and bedding to enable us to move back in. Well that didn’t happened.
We have an odd hot water system here. We have solar panels on the roof that heat the water to a certain temperature and then what I assume is some sort of emersion heater to top up the temperature. So far, in the two months of living here it appears to have worked very well, until last week.
The guy to fix it was supposed to show up on Monday, but he was a “no show”. Similarly Tuesday, Wednesday and now at 5.00pm on Thursday I am not hopeful that he is going to show up today. The poor dog hasn’t been walked all week and although it is not a problem for me as I was planning on spending most of my days in the house anyway, I have to say it is now completely irritating. Steve is incandescent with anger and is threatening to withhold the rent until it is fixed.
Steve’s secretary has been calling the company every half hour to check that he is coming but after the 3 o’clock call the company have not been able to get in touch with the technician so who knows whether he is going to come. My money is on another no – show. Emails are being exchanged with the owner’s lawyers and in the meantime I am still sorting through my worldly goods, trying to find homes for everything.
But on a brighter note, the house warming party is being penciled in for June 19th by which time, pictures will be hung, the silver will be cleaned and I will have lost all those pounds that I have gained since being here. Assuming of course that we have hot water.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Home alone. Wednesday May 5 2010
I love being an empty nester – sorry kids. Much as I love my children the fact that we deserted them to embark on this latest adventure made the whole separation thing a lot easier.
I know of friends that are dreading the day their last child flies the nest and they are faced with each other’s company for the first time in a long time.
We were fortunate in that I didn’t happen to us. Emma headed off to boarding school in September and Charles checked in for the last 6 months of high school as a boarder, just as we packed our bags and headed south to Brazil in January.
Children coming here are a bonus but not the norm. I am a great believer in “the association of ideas”. By that I mean that one assumes that something happens because something else is happening or it is the time to do something. Living in Princeton involved children, school runs, playing lots of bridge and Mediterra on Friday night. Oh it’s Mediterra so it must be Friday. Oh we are in the UK so it must be July. More worryingly, oh I am cooking supper so there must be a glass of red wine on the go. You get the picture. We humans live our lives by routine and, in the main, that is very comforting.
Then all of a sudden that changes and life takes on a different tack. I have to interject here that the children are both in fabulous places. Charles is about to finish high school and is set to go to Washington DC in the summer. Who wouldn’t want to study politics and economics in the hub of the political universe? Emma is at her whacky boarding school and loves every minute. “Why can’t I spend the summer here” to quote her. So they are both in great places so I don’t feel too bad.
But then so are we. Hey, let’s go out to dinner/away for the weekend/come with me on a business trip. So far it has been fabulous.
Until that is this past few days. Steve went away on Sunday and it was not the sort of trip I could go with him. He left on Sunday afternoon - ugh - to go to the north of Brazil to rally his sales team ahead of a new drug launch. He was staying in a very nice resort hotel but I wasn’t with him. Instead I was in an empty house (still no furniture – 4 months and very much counting) with only the dog for company and funnily enough she wasn’t really interested. Hmmmm? – what is a girl to do? Marcelo was off duty so although the car was in the garage there was no way I was ever going to drive it. So I downloaded a movie to watch, cooked a TV dinner (never again) and went to bed around 9.30. I locked myself into the “safe” room upstairs and the only thing on TV were views of the security cameras dotted around the house. Funnily enough it is not the same as Desperate Housewives. With the burglar alarm and the dog for company it was a long night.
The caipirinha helped me to sleep but I was seriously bored. I take my hat off to all those single people everywhere that do this on a regular basis. I hated the whole “single” process.
Come back Steve – all is forgiven
I know of friends that are dreading the day their last child flies the nest and they are faced with each other’s company for the first time in a long time.
We were fortunate in that I didn’t happen to us. Emma headed off to boarding school in September and Charles checked in for the last 6 months of high school as a boarder, just as we packed our bags and headed south to Brazil in January.
Children coming here are a bonus but not the norm. I am a great believer in “the association of ideas”. By that I mean that one assumes that something happens because something else is happening or it is the time to do something. Living in Princeton involved children, school runs, playing lots of bridge and Mediterra on Friday night. Oh it’s Mediterra so it must be Friday. Oh we are in the UK so it must be July. More worryingly, oh I am cooking supper so there must be a glass of red wine on the go. You get the picture. We humans live our lives by routine and, in the main, that is very comforting.
Then all of a sudden that changes and life takes on a different tack. I have to interject here that the children are both in fabulous places. Charles is about to finish high school and is set to go to Washington DC in the summer. Who wouldn’t want to study politics and economics in the hub of the political universe? Emma is at her whacky boarding school and loves every minute. “Why can’t I spend the summer here” to quote her. So they are both in great places so I don’t feel too bad.
But then so are we. Hey, let’s go out to dinner/away for the weekend/come with me on a business trip. So far it has been fabulous.
Until that is this past few days. Steve went away on Sunday and it was not the sort of trip I could go with him. He left on Sunday afternoon - ugh - to go to the north of Brazil to rally his sales team ahead of a new drug launch. He was staying in a very nice resort hotel but I wasn’t with him. Instead I was in an empty house (still no furniture – 4 months and very much counting) with only the dog for company and funnily enough she wasn’t really interested. Hmmmm? – what is a girl to do? Marcelo was off duty so although the car was in the garage there was no way I was ever going to drive it. So I downloaded a movie to watch, cooked a TV dinner (never again) and went to bed around 9.30. I locked myself into the “safe” room upstairs and the only thing on TV were views of the security cameras dotted around the house. Funnily enough it is not the same as Desperate Housewives. With the burglar alarm and the dog for company it was a long night.
The caipirinha helped me to sleep but I was seriously bored. I take my hat off to all those single people everywhere that do this on a regular basis. I hated the whole “single” process.
Come back Steve – all is forgiven
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