Cars in Brazil are seriously expensive. In an effort to help the local car manufacturers, import taxes on cars can be as high as 55% of the car’s value. Add to that freight and other duties and it is easy to see how the cost of an imported car can be more than double the price we would expect to pay in the United States. Also, in an effort to protect themselves, many people here have their cars made bullet proof ("Blindado" in Portuguese, in case you need to know), which can easily add upwards of another US$ 20,000 to the price.
But, notwithstanding the expense, there are over 9,500,000 cars in the greater metropolitan area of Sao Paulo. This figure is staggering, but easy to understand when we sit in traffic jams almost every day. The public transport systems are woefully inadequate, taxis, although plentiful are quite expensive and the Metro system only covers part of the city.
So cars it is. You can see every type of car that is made on this planet driving around Sao Paulo. Even the very high end luxury sports cars have made it here, which I personally find amazing given the state of the roads. I feel as though we are going “off roading” just driving up our street. The roads in most of the suburbs are really bad. The motorways are okay in terms of surface, but that is just the motorways, not the local roads. And of course, every time it rains, the roads flood which just adds to the problem. And why would you want a convertible sports car anyway? Okay the climate is great and the idea of driving around with the roof down might sound very appealing, but given the poor quality of the air and the high chance of being held up, why would you bother?
Car theft is also very prevalent. Everyone knows someone who has been held up, usually at gun point and had their car stolen. The lucky ones just get dumped on the side of the road, having handed over keys, handbag, brief case etc. Imagine how you would feel to watch your car being driven off by thieves who have also taken your wallet, cell phone, driver’s license and left you with no means of communication or ability to get home.
The unlucky ones also get to drive to the nearest ATM and are forced at gunpoint to reveal their PIN numbers and have their bank accounts emptied before being dumped on the side of the road. One really unlucky case I heard about was of a guy being shot and who was driven around the city for such a long time that he basically bled to death.
Last week, we were driving down a road and Marcelo pointed out to me a car park that had been boarded up. It was one of those areas of waste ground that someone had had the idea of making into a car park. In order to maximize the amount of cars that could be parked; everyone left their keys with the parking attendant. It seems that about 6 men held up the attendant at gun point and pointed to 6 cars demanding the keys to each of them. They then casually got into the cars and drove off. No breaking and entering, no hot-wiring. Just driven off in broad daylight.
Opposite our house is a school, and another theft occurred when two men in a car, followed a mum from her home to the school. Just as she had parked the car and was getting bags from the back, one of the men held her up at gunpoint, left her and her child on the side of the road and drove off. This is all the more staggering because the school employs at least 6 or 7 security guards to patrol that area outside the school. The place is also covered by many Close Circuit TV monitors. The good news for her was that the car had a tracking device fitted and the car was recovered after a couple of days.
Other people aren’t so lucky. Cars are often shipped over the border into Paraguay, where they are given new plates and forged papers. Alternatively they are broken up for parts.
Another person I know had just returned home from a weekend away and had parked their car in the parking space in front of their house. The house had a gate in front but the thieves saw them unloading everything and basically put a gun through the gate and demanded they open the gate. They obviously thought they were secure in their house but the thieves thought otherwise. Let’s think about this? They could open the gate and let the thieves get away with the car, or think about trying to outwit thieves with guns. Hmm – no brianer. The car and a lot of their belongings were stolen.
There was a report of a theft that is almost too improbable to believe. In the centre of Sao Paulo there is a very high end car sales show room that sells high end sports cars such as Maserati and Ferraris. It seems that the practice was to tuck the keys to the cars above the sun visor. I guess the thief did his homework, because it was reported that someone simply walked into the showroom, sat in the car, took the keys out of their hiding place and drove off. No idea whether they got away with it but the sheer audacity to walk in and drive off seems almost unreal.
It is also hard to imagine, but car insurance is a relative luxury here. Marcelo told me the story of a friend of his who had just taken delivery of a new car and had parked outside a drug store to pick something up. Whilst inside, his car was stolen. He probably hadn’t even made the first payment, and of course no insurance.
So, I am very pleased that we manage with one car and share Marcelo. It might be an inconvenience when we both have to be at different places at the same time, but we manage, and it is a whole lot better than worrying about being held up at gunpoint and dumped on the side of the road. Our garage is underground and we have a gated entrance that is opened by the security guards that sit behind bullet proof glass. And I have learned never to be blasé about security. As far as I am concerned, the more the better and it is never an inconvenience.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Guarulhos. Friday February 23, 2012
I hate flying at the best of times. Add to that mix domestic travel in a foreign country, on a Friday evening in the middle of a thunderstorm and there is clearly a recipe for trouble.
It all sounded such a good idea at the time. How many times have we heard that? Steve is at a conference next week in the north of Brazil. Recife to be precise. The conference is in a resort hotel and many are the times he goes to these events and wishes I was going with him. So I agreed to go and spend the week.
The first glitch in the system is that I have recently been back to the United States to do the first part of my Re-entry visa. We are on green cards in the US and as we are now living – albeit temporarily in Brazil, we have to have special permits to allow us to come and go without hassle. Well, part two of the re-application process is to have an appointment to have my fingerprints taken and the allotted time is next week. Right in the middle of my week long sojourn to Recife.
So we re-booked the tickets and the plan was that I would go with Steve on Friday evening, stay for the weekend and fly back to Sao Paulo on Monday in time to catch the overnight flight to the States. Well, here is another glitch. My flight is scheduled to land on Monday afternoon at around 3.30, and the flight out isn’t until late evening. Trouble is, that in Sao Paulo there is such a thing called “Rodizio” which means that for one day a week, our car cannot travel into the centre of Sao Paulo during rush hours. Our car, inconveniently enough is off the road on Mondays. Okay a 6 hour layover isn’t so bad, except when it is at Guarulhos – the main airport for the commercial capital of Brazil and one of the worst in the world.
But back to this evening. Of course, being Friday meant that the traffic is worse than usual. The fact that it was raining and coming at the end of a holiday week (Carnival) meant that for a 7 o’clock flight we left at 3.45. Fortunately, once at the airport, there was little in the way of queues and I even made it through security without the full body check that I usually incur courtesy of my titanium hip. I swear that they made me go back and forward through the metal detector, turning down the sensitivity each time until it was low enough that my hip didn’t register.
The thunderstorm was still going strong and very noticeable because there was a considerable amount of rain coming through the roof of the terminal. The cleaning staff were doing their best to keep on top of it, but failing miserably. Unfortunately, the area that was flooded was the holding area where everyone is bussed out to the aircraft. Chaos was ensuing. The elevators and escalators were all out of action and people were trying to make it down the stairs with rain literally bucketing down all around them. The cleaning staff were trying to place buckets to catch the water, but we were talking a deluge. Buckets weren’t cutting it.
We headed for the nearest café. Three times the gate for our flight was changed and we wandered up and down the concourse, setting up camp near the next gate. Eventually the inevitable happened and the flight was cancelled. I have to say that it was reasonably efficient to rebook us onto the next flight, which was due to leave about an hour later. We were offered supper at one of the restaurants and so blindly followed the ground staff back - to the land side.
It was hardly worth the walk because it was a “por quilo “restaurant and having been here now for over two years I know that “por quilo” is to be avoided at all cost. It is basically a buffet where you help yourself and then at the checkout, they weigh the food and you are charged by weight – hence the name – “by the kilo. It was pretty awful, but given that we wouldn’t be getting to the hotel until gone midnight it was a case of “better have something”. But then after the disgusting food we had to go through all the procedure of getting airside again.
I was fully expecting to see Marcelo. Steve is convinced that Marcello is able to track him via his cell phone and Marcelo never leaves the airport until the flight has taken off, just in case it is cancelled. Either that or he has nothing better to do on a Friday night and I guess the overtime is always handy.
So four hours after we arrived at the airport, we were still waiting for our flight to be called. I sometimes wonder how Brazil is ever going to cope with the World Cup in 2014 and the Olympics in 2016. There is lots of talk about building a new terminal to cope with the influx of visitors, but with less than two and a half years until the World Cup, that is clearly not going to happen.
But for now all I am concerned about is whether my luggage is going to make it onto the new flight. I hope so; I need some of it for my trip to the States on Monday. Assuming of course that I make it back from Recife in time for that flight.
It all sounded such a good idea at the time. How many times have we heard that? Steve is at a conference next week in the north of Brazil. Recife to be precise. The conference is in a resort hotel and many are the times he goes to these events and wishes I was going with him. So I agreed to go and spend the week.
The first glitch in the system is that I have recently been back to the United States to do the first part of my Re-entry visa. We are on green cards in the US and as we are now living – albeit temporarily in Brazil, we have to have special permits to allow us to come and go without hassle. Well, part two of the re-application process is to have an appointment to have my fingerprints taken and the allotted time is next week. Right in the middle of my week long sojourn to Recife.
So we re-booked the tickets and the plan was that I would go with Steve on Friday evening, stay for the weekend and fly back to Sao Paulo on Monday in time to catch the overnight flight to the States. Well, here is another glitch. My flight is scheduled to land on Monday afternoon at around 3.30, and the flight out isn’t until late evening. Trouble is, that in Sao Paulo there is such a thing called “Rodizio” which means that for one day a week, our car cannot travel into the centre of Sao Paulo during rush hours. Our car, inconveniently enough is off the road on Mondays. Okay a 6 hour layover isn’t so bad, except when it is at Guarulhos – the main airport for the commercial capital of Brazil and one of the worst in the world.
But back to this evening. Of course, being Friday meant that the traffic is worse than usual. The fact that it was raining and coming at the end of a holiday week (Carnival) meant that for a 7 o’clock flight we left at 3.45. Fortunately, once at the airport, there was little in the way of queues and I even made it through security without the full body check that I usually incur courtesy of my titanium hip. I swear that they made me go back and forward through the metal detector, turning down the sensitivity each time until it was low enough that my hip didn’t register.
The thunderstorm was still going strong and very noticeable because there was a considerable amount of rain coming through the roof of the terminal. The cleaning staff were doing their best to keep on top of it, but failing miserably. Unfortunately, the area that was flooded was the holding area where everyone is bussed out to the aircraft. Chaos was ensuing. The elevators and escalators were all out of action and people were trying to make it down the stairs with rain literally bucketing down all around them. The cleaning staff were trying to place buckets to catch the water, but we were talking a deluge. Buckets weren’t cutting it.
We headed for the nearest café. Three times the gate for our flight was changed and we wandered up and down the concourse, setting up camp near the next gate. Eventually the inevitable happened and the flight was cancelled. I have to say that it was reasonably efficient to rebook us onto the next flight, which was due to leave about an hour later. We were offered supper at one of the restaurants and so blindly followed the ground staff back - to the land side.
It was hardly worth the walk because it was a “por quilo “restaurant and having been here now for over two years I know that “por quilo” is to be avoided at all cost. It is basically a buffet where you help yourself and then at the checkout, they weigh the food and you are charged by weight – hence the name – “by the kilo. It was pretty awful, but given that we wouldn’t be getting to the hotel until gone midnight it was a case of “better have something”. But then after the disgusting food we had to go through all the procedure of getting airside again.
I was fully expecting to see Marcelo. Steve is convinced that Marcello is able to track him via his cell phone and Marcelo never leaves the airport until the flight has taken off, just in case it is cancelled. Either that or he has nothing better to do on a Friday night and I guess the overtime is always handy.
So four hours after we arrived at the airport, we were still waiting for our flight to be called. I sometimes wonder how Brazil is ever going to cope with the World Cup in 2014 and the Olympics in 2016. There is lots of talk about building a new terminal to cope with the influx of visitors, but with less than two and a half years until the World Cup, that is clearly not going to happen.
But for now all I am concerned about is whether my luggage is going to make it onto the new flight. I hope so; I need some of it for my trip to the States on Monday. Assuming of course that I make it back from Recife in time for that flight.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Contraband. January 21, 2012
I have just had a trip to the States and experienced Government inefficiency at its peak.
We are green card holders and because we are now living outside of the United States, we have to have re-entry permits to allow us to travel backwards and forwards more easily. Technically, we come back often enough that we shouldn’t need them, but just in case, the magic turquoise book makes our passage easier. Even so, I always get asked, “Why am I living outside the States?”, “How long will I be away?”, “When will I be returning?” etc., etc..
My issue recently has been that these re entry permits only last for two years, and hard though it is to believe, we have now been in Brazil for over two years so they have to be renewed. You would think that it is a straight forward process, but then you always have to remember the adage that why make things straightforward when they can be complicated.
The process is twofold. The paperwork has to be submitted, and then at a later date, biometrics have to be taken. Let’s now complicate matters. When the paperwork is submitted, one has to physically be in the United States. I have to be ready to present my boarding pass to show that I actually got onto a flight. Wouldn’t you think that the department of immigration could check what my passport was scanned at a border when I came into the country? Seemingly not. According to the lawyers I have to retain my boarding passes – just in case I need to show them.
So I arrived on Friday morning, and duly sent off the paperwork to the lawyers. It happened to be Martin Luther King Day on Monday so everything was closed, lawyer’s offices and of course all public offices. My lawyers processed everything Tuesday and sent it off overnight. But, just in case it wasn’t received on Wednesday morning, it was suggested that I stay and extra day.
Part two is getting my fingerprints done. I’m not sure why my fingerprints would change in the two years since my last re entry permit was issued but they have to be re done – just in case they have changed. Or maybe it is to prove that I am still the same person – who knows? Trouble is, they can’t give you an appointment date ahead of time. So I have now had to return to Brazil – (without my turquoise book) and await the appointment for my biometrics. I checked when I arrived in immigration as to whether I would have any problem getting back into the States without my re-entry book and the immigration officer looked at me and basically said that I travel often enough, I didn’t even need one!
Oh well, it was a week spent in freezing New Jersey. A chance to see Emma, friends and to catch a cold. And of course to do some shopping. Let’s face it; there can never be enough opportunities to do shopping. But here is the thing. Everything in Sao Paulo is ridiculously expensive, (it is now in the top 10 of most expensive cities in the world to live ahead of London and Paris.) When I say I am coming back to do shopping, it is not for the niceties in life such as clothes, shoes and handbags. Sadly it is for boring things like grocery shopping.
When I got back to Sao Paulo, there was a very officious woman at the customs clearance desk. I swear that she stopped every person traveling by themselves with more than one suitcase. I had three large cases and was sent straight to the inspection area. I had only just congratulated myself for being so speedy getting through immigration and baggage collection when I saw the enormous line for customs check. Marcelo would just have to continue waiting.
Firstly, all bags had to go through the X-ray machine and then I was sent to a table to start opening my cases for closer inspection. I was happy that I really had nothing bad in them, but I think the customs officer looked in disbelief as I started showing him what was there. Shampoo, conditioner, razors, and hay fever tablets. Maybe the talcum powder was not such a good idea. White powder? Not so sensible but it passed.
But, my favourite item to show them was the 12 rolls of Bounty Kitchen Towel. Paper towels being smuggled into Brazil – how sad! But decent paper towels are such a luxury in Brazil. I can live without a new pair of shoes but decent kitchen towel – absolutely not.
I am off out to dinner this evening and my hostess gift will be one of my precious hoard. In the United States they cost about US$ 3 each. In Sao Paulo they are priceless.
We are green card holders and because we are now living outside of the United States, we have to have re-entry permits to allow us to travel backwards and forwards more easily. Technically, we come back often enough that we shouldn’t need them, but just in case, the magic turquoise book makes our passage easier. Even so, I always get asked, “Why am I living outside the States?”, “How long will I be away?”, “When will I be returning?” etc., etc..
My issue recently has been that these re entry permits only last for two years, and hard though it is to believe, we have now been in Brazil for over two years so they have to be renewed. You would think that it is a straight forward process, but then you always have to remember the adage that why make things straightforward when they can be complicated.
The process is twofold. The paperwork has to be submitted, and then at a later date, biometrics have to be taken. Let’s now complicate matters. When the paperwork is submitted, one has to physically be in the United States. I have to be ready to present my boarding pass to show that I actually got onto a flight. Wouldn’t you think that the department of immigration could check what my passport was scanned at a border when I came into the country? Seemingly not. According to the lawyers I have to retain my boarding passes – just in case I need to show them.
So I arrived on Friday morning, and duly sent off the paperwork to the lawyers. It happened to be Martin Luther King Day on Monday so everything was closed, lawyer’s offices and of course all public offices. My lawyers processed everything Tuesday and sent it off overnight. But, just in case it wasn’t received on Wednesday morning, it was suggested that I stay and extra day.
Part two is getting my fingerprints done. I’m not sure why my fingerprints would change in the two years since my last re entry permit was issued but they have to be re done – just in case they have changed. Or maybe it is to prove that I am still the same person – who knows? Trouble is, they can’t give you an appointment date ahead of time. So I have now had to return to Brazil – (without my turquoise book) and await the appointment for my biometrics. I checked when I arrived in immigration as to whether I would have any problem getting back into the States without my re-entry book and the immigration officer looked at me and basically said that I travel often enough, I didn’t even need one!
Oh well, it was a week spent in freezing New Jersey. A chance to see Emma, friends and to catch a cold. And of course to do some shopping. Let’s face it; there can never be enough opportunities to do shopping. But here is the thing. Everything in Sao Paulo is ridiculously expensive, (it is now in the top 10 of most expensive cities in the world to live ahead of London and Paris.) When I say I am coming back to do shopping, it is not for the niceties in life such as clothes, shoes and handbags. Sadly it is for boring things like grocery shopping.
When I got back to Sao Paulo, there was a very officious woman at the customs clearance desk. I swear that she stopped every person traveling by themselves with more than one suitcase. I had three large cases and was sent straight to the inspection area. I had only just congratulated myself for being so speedy getting through immigration and baggage collection when I saw the enormous line for customs check. Marcelo would just have to continue waiting.
Firstly, all bags had to go through the X-ray machine and then I was sent to a table to start opening my cases for closer inspection. I was happy that I really had nothing bad in them, but I think the customs officer looked in disbelief as I started showing him what was there. Shampoo, conditioner, razors, and hay fever tablets. Maybe the talcum powder was not such a good idea. White powder? Not so sensible but it passed.
But, my favourite item to show them was the 12 rolls of Bounty Kitchen Towel. Paper towels being smuggled into Brazil – how sad! But decent paper towels are such a luxury in Brazil. I can live without a new pair of shoes but decent kitchen towel – absolutely not.
I am off out to dinner this evening and my hostess gift will be one of my precious hoard. In the United States they cost about US$ 3 each. In Sao Paulo they are priceless.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Banking. 11 January 2011
There are times when I shake my head in amazement at the inefficiency of this country. Yesterday was a case in point.
For various boring reasons, we operate mainly on a cash basis. I have an account in the States and use my ATM card to get out cash and pay whatever I need that way. This covers most things, groceries, the cleaner, etc etc. I do have a bank account here, but rarely transfer money by wire transfer, because the fees are really high and the exchange rate is lousy. It is just easier to take extra money out of the hole in the wall machine and go to my local bank and deposit it.
That was until a few weeks ago. Very conveniently, there was a branch of my Bank - Bank Itau – inside the factory where Steve had his office. At one time, there were probably over a thousand workers there, and someone had obviously thought it cost effective to have a bank on site rather than have people trying to take time out of their day to pay bills. I can fully understand why.
For starters there are the banking hours. The banks open at 10 am. Then they close for a lunch hour and then they finish for the day at 4 pm. Even the little branch on site would follow these hours. I remember about 20 years ago in the UK this was the sort of regime, although I can’t ever remember closing for lunch.
Well, just before Christmas, the factory closed and the offices relocated to a new building. Sadly with the demise of the factory, so too went the lovely quiet branch of Bank Itau. Now I am with Joe Public, trying to pay bills with the best and the rest of them.
For starters, Marcelo is never happy with the security, so we are trying several different locations to see which one he feels most comfortable with. There has to be parking, it can’t be near a favela (slum) and preferably not too many people.
Quite often I need to go to a branch of my US bank first and then head over to the Bank Itau. Two bank trips in one day is quite a stress for him but yesterday we went.
Before I could even get into the bank, there was a revolving door with a security guard. She gestured to me and muttered something in Portuguese. I had no idea what she was on about, but the guy behind me, who by this stage I was holding up, emptied his pockets of his keys and cell phone and deposited them in a tray that was conveniently cut into the revolving door. Okay, I got that bit.
Next there were about 8 or 9 people in front of me. I noticed that on the floor were taped yellow lines, a big arrow and “Entrada” – all on the floor. The lines were depicting a queuing system, albeit without the poles and ropes that you get at airports these days. People were dutifully following the lines, snaking around up and down. The yellow lines created 5 rows and I reckon that each row could hold about 8 – 10 people. In total, the lines could accommodate 40 – 50 people waiting in line. I looked in disbelief,
a. That people would wait in such a line and
b. That a bank would let such a queue build up.
Then I noticed a sign on the cashier’s window which basically translated as the following:
We expect on a “normal” day that your wait will not be more than 20 minutes long. On busy days, we expect your wait to be no more than 30 minutes long. There was then a definition of a busy day. The end of the week, the end of the month, the 1st to the 10th of the month. Days either side of a public holiday, days on which the maids are paid and days on which workers are paid. Thinking about it, that probably covers most of the month. I stood in line, and then stood somemore.
Then I noticed something else that is interesting. The Brazilians are very keen on helping the elderly, the disabled, pregnant ladies, nursing mothers and people helping any of the above or carrying a small child. There is always a window for such a group of people and they are always given priority. I’m sure if I looked hard enough I would find a label quoting the applicable law – Brazilians love such things.
The set up in this particular branch, was that the “priority” window was at one side, and alongside the wall in front of it were several chairs, I guess for the “Priorities” to be able to take the weight off their feet whilst they waited in line. There were only two cashiers on duty so as the 8 people in front of me waited, 4 priorities came in and went to their window. That left one person to handle everyone else. No wonder you can expect to wait 20 – 30 minutes.
And here is the other thing. Because it is such a painful and inefficient process, everyone seems to have hoarded up their bills to pay which slows down the process even more. One guy had so many screwed up pieces of paper that the casher made him go to the other side of the bank and photocopy everything so that she could process nice crisp pieces of paper. But of course it was far too much to expect the cashier to deal with another customer whilst we were waiting. Oh no – even the US Postal Service isn’t that inefficient.
So, my next task is to master the Internet banking. I suspect that more frustration lies ahead. Or maybe I ought to speak to the President of my husband’s company and plead a case for a new branch inside the office. After all it is his bills that are not being paid.
For various boring reasons, we operate mainly on a cash basis. I have an account in the States and use my ATM card to get out cash and pay whatever I need that way. This covers most things, groceries, the cleaner, etc etc. I do have a bank account here, but rarely transfer money by wire transfer, because the fees are really high and the exchange rate is lousy. It is just easier to take extra money out of the hole in the wall machine and go to my local bank and deposit it.
That was until a few weeks ago. Very conveniently, there was a branch of my Bank - Bank Itau – inside the factory where Steve had his office. At one time, there were probably over a thousand workers there, and someone had obviously thought it cost effective to have a bank on site rather than have people trying to take time out of their day to pay bills. I can fully understand why.
For starters there are the banking hours. The banks open at 10 am. Then they close for a lunch hour and then they finish for the day at 4 pm. Even the little branch on site would follow these hours. I remember about 20 years ago in the UK this was the sort of regime, although I can’t ever remember closing for lunch.
Well, just before Christmas, the factory closed and the offices relocated to a new building. Sadly with the demise of the factory, so too went the lovely quiet branch of Bank Itau. Now I am with Joe Public, trying to pay bills with the best and the rest of them.
For starters, Marcelo is never happy with the security, so we are trying several different locations to see which one he feels most comfortable with. There has to be parking, it can’t be near a favela (slum) and preferably not too many people.
Quite often I need to go to a branch of my US bank first and then head over to the Bank Itau. Two bank trips in one day is quite a stress for him but yesterday we went.
Before I could even get into the bank, there was a revolving door with a security guard. She gestured to me and muttered something in Portuguese. I had no idea what she was on about, but the guy behind me, who by this stage I was holding up, emptied his pockets of his keys and cell phone and deposited them in a tray that was conveniently cut into the revolving door. Okay, I got that bit.
Next there were about 8 or 9 people in front of me. I noticed that on the floor were taped yellow lines, a big arrow and “Entrada” – all on the floor. The lines were depicting a queuing system, albeit without the poles and ropes that you get at airports these days. People were dutifully following the lines, snaking around up and down. The yellow lines created 5 rows and I reckon that each row could hold about 8 – 10 people. In total, the lines could accommodate 40 – 50 people waiting in line. I looked in disbelief,
a. That people would wait in such a line and
b. That a bank would let such a queue build up.
Then I noticed a sign on the cashier’s window which basically translated as the following:
We expect on a “normal” day that your wait will not be more than 20 minutes long. On busy days, we expect your wait to be no more than 30 minutes long. There was then a definition of a busy day. The end of the week, the end of the month, the 1st to the 10th of the month. Days either side of a public holiday, days on which the maids are paid and days on which workers are paid. Thinking about it, that probably covers most of the month. I stood in line, and then stood somemore.
Then I noticed something else that is interesting. The Brazilians are very keen on helping the elderly, the disabled, pregnant ladies, nursing mothers and people helping any of the above or carrying a small child. There is always a window for such a group of people and they are always given priority. I’m sure if I looked hard enough I would find a label quoting the applicable law – Brazilians love such things.
The set up in this particular branch, was that the “priority” window was at one side, and alongside the wall in front of it were several chairs, I guess for the “Priorities” to be able to take the weight off their feet whilst they waited in line. There were only two cashiers on duty so as the 8 people in front of me waited, 4 priorities came in and went to their window. That left one person to handle everyone else. No wonder you can expect to wait 20 – 30 minutes.
And here is the other thing. Because it is such a painful and inefficient process, everyone seems to have hoarded up their bills to pay which slows down the process even more. One guy had so many screwed up pieces of paper that the casher made him go to the other side of the bank and photocopy everything so that she could process nice crisp pieces of paper. But of course it was far too much to expect the cashier to deal with another customer whilst we were waiting. Oh no – even the US Postal Service isn’t that inefficient.
So, my next task is to master the Internet banking. I suspect that more frustration lies ahead. Or maybe I ought to speak to the President of my husband’s company and plead a case for a new branch inside the office. After all it is his bills that are not being paid.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Fear of flying Saturday January 7th 2012
Yesterday we flew home from Iguassu to Guarulhos – a journey that should have taken one hour and 15 minutes. Instead it took over two hours and was one of the worst flights that I can ever remember taking. Steve was next to me, and when he goes quiet I know that there is something wrong. His I-pod just wasn’t doing it for him, and he sat very very quietly for a very long time.
But more of that later. Since we embarked on this lifestyle, we have flown all manner of planes and airlines. Some were memorable for the wrong reasons, but mainly you just blot out the bad and remember the good. Until that is a flight like yesterday happens and all the dodgy flights that you have ever taken come back to haunt you.
In the Philippines, the national airline was Philippine Airlines or P.A.L., which was commonly known as “Plane Always Late”. It was true as well. I don’t think that we ever flew with them on time. I once made the mistake of trying to get an early morning flight to Hong Kong and watched as the Cathay Pacific flight took off, even though it was scheduled to leave after the P.A. L. one. So much for maximizing our shopping time.
Coming into the old airport in Hong Kong was quite an experience and one I’m glad that I saw out of the windows and not the cockpit. The old airport was literally in the middle of a jungle of skyscrapers. As you came into land, the joke was that you could see what people were having for dinner and watching on TV. The apartments really were that close.
There is a similar set up coming into the local airport here in Sao Paulo. Huge apartment and office blocks seem to be alarmingly close to the flight path, and there are reports that one block in particular had been deemed to be so high that it has been ordered to be demolished. But something must have changed, because 2 new blocks are going up directly behind the offending one that are even higher.
My very first flight with P.A. L. was memorable because at the end of it, all the passengers clapped and cheered as we landed. There had been nothing particularly special to warrant such rapturous applause, but I learned very soon thereafter that clapping a good landing was a very common occurrence.
I have only ever been very seriously concerned for my safety when all of us, plus a family member flew in a tiny 9-seater prop plane over to one of the islands. It was the sort of plane where everything was weighed – I guess so that they could work out how much fuel to load. I remember standing on the scales, Emma in my arms, baby bag, hand bag and hand luggage and topped 200 pounds. It was horrible seeing the scales tip over the 200 mark and even as middle age spread sets in, I am thankfully nowhere near that mark.
But we took off and I distinctly remember thinking that if this plane went down, Stephen’s mother would lose 5 of her family members – morbid I know. There were 2 pilots and the only thing that kept me going was the fact that one of them read his newspaper for the entire length of the flight, putting it aside only for take off and landing.
About 2 months later I learned that one of the flights to that particular island very nearly didn’t make it back to Manila and came into land with one of the props not working. A friend at the time was on that flight.
But back to yesterday. We took off in clear blue skies and 90 + degrees of sunshine. There was a bit of turbulence but we were in a big plane so not too bad. After our designated time, it was obvious that we were circling over Sao Paolo. Every so often there would be a break in the clouds and we could see the South Atlantic Ocean beneath us and then the tell tale signs of skyscrapers. I swear that the pilot couldn’t decide whether
A. he was even going to land or
B. which runway he was going to use or
C. which airport he was planning on landing at.
To say that we changed direction half a dozen times was an underestimation I’m sure. We weaved left and right, banked one way then the other. The nose was pointing up at one point and for one very alarming minute thrust down in a serious dive. We heard the wheels go down and saw the flaps moving backwards and forwards and broke through the clouds to see the ground coming up very fast below us. Surely only a matter of time and we would hit the ground but no, the electrics flickered, lights went off and then on again and we climbed very rapidly and banked hard.
We were kept informed over the tannoy, but of course it was all in Portuguese and those messages are hard to hear at the best of times so in Portuguese there was no chance. Did he say 4 to 5 minutes or 45 minutes? No idea. Around we came again. We weren’t even sure if we were at the original airport, the cloud was thick and it wasn’t until the very last minute that saw that we had in fact landed at Guarulhos. The pilot slammed on the brakes flaps flying everywhere and we finally came to a stop.
Applause broke out all around us. Even Steve joined in.
But more of that later. Since we embarked on this lifestyle, we have flown all manner of planes and airlines. Some were memorable for the wrong reasons, but mainly you just blot out the bad and remember the good. Until that is a flight like yesterday happens and all the dodgy flights that you have ever taken come back to haunt you.
In the Philippines, the national airline was Philippine Airlines or P.A.L., which was commonly known as “Plane Always Late”. It was true as well. I don’t think that we ever flew with them on time. I once made the mistake of trying to get an early morning flight to Hong Kong and watched as the Cathay Pacific flight took off, even though it was scheduled to leave after the P.A. L. one. So much for maximizing our shopping time.
Coming into the old airport in Hong Kong was quite an experience and one I’m glad that I saw out of the windows and not the cockpit. The old airport was literally in the middle of a jungle of skyscrapers. As you came into land, the joke was that you could see what people were having for dinner and watching on TV. The apartments really were that close.
There is a similar set up coming into the local airport here in Sao Paulo. Huge apartment and office blocks seem to be alarmingly close to the flight path, and there are reports that one block in particular had been deemed to be so high that it has been ordered to be demolished. But something must have changed, because 2 new blocks are going up directly behind the offending one that are even higher.
My very first flight with P.A. L. was memorable because at the end of it, all the passengers clapped and cheered as we landed. There had been nothing particularly special to warrant such rapturous applause, but I learned very soon thereafter that clapping a good landing was a very common occurrence.
I have only ever been very seriously concerned for my safety when all of us, plus a family member flew in a tiny 9-seater prop plane over to one of the islands. It was the sort of plane where everything was weighed – I guess so that they could work out how much fuel to load. I remember standing on the scales, Emma in my arms, baby bag, hand bag and hand luggage and topped 200 pounds. It was horrible seeing the scales tip over the 200 mark and even as middle age spread sets in, I am thankfully nowhere near that mark.
But we took off and I distinctly remember thinking that if this plane went down, Stephen’s mother would lose 5 of her family members – morbid I know. There were 2 pilots and the only thing that kept me going was the fact that one of them read his newspaper for the entire length of the flight, putting it aside only for take off and landing.
About 2 months later I learned that one of the flights to that particular island very nearly didn’t make it back to Manila and came into land with one of the props not working. A friend at the time was on that flight.
But back to yesterday. We took off in clear blue skies and 90 + degrees of sunshine. There was a bit of turbulence but we were in a big plane so not too bad. After our designated time, it was obvious that we were circling over Sao Paolo. Every so often there would be a break in the clouds and we could see the South Atlantic Ocean beneath us and then the tell tale signs of skyscrapers. I swear that the pilot couldn’t decide whether
A. he was even going to land or
B. which runway he was going to use or
C. which airport he was planning on landing at.
To say that we changed direction half a dozen times was an underestimation I’m sure. We weaved left and right, banked one way then the other. The nose was pointing up at one point and for one very alarming minute thrust down in a serious dive. We heard the wheels go down and saw the flaps moving backwards and forwards and broke through the clouds to see the ground coming up very fast below us. Surely only a matter of time and we would hit the ground but no, the electrics flickered, lights went off and then on again and we climbed very rapidly and banked hard.
We were kept informed over the tannoy, but of course it was all in Portuguese and those messages are hard to hear at the best of times so in Portuguese there was no chance. Did he say 4 to 5 minutes or 45 minutes? No idea. Around we came again. We weren’t even sure if we were at the original airport, the cloud was thick and it wasn’t until the very last minute that saw that we had in fact landed at Guarulhos. The pilot slammed on the brakes flaps flying everywhere and we finally came to a stop.
Applause broke out all around us. Even Steve joined in.
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