In the words of the tantric Geordie, "I'm an Alien".... In fact all three of us are aliens. To be technically correct, we're tourists. Only we live here. So we largely depend upon the employer to help us out with everything (and I mean everything) until we can nip back to London and collect our visas, which are now all duly processed and ready to go. Now, in a relatively short space of time I've learnt that one of Brazil's most celebrated pastimes is seeing how many people can be involved in a single beurocratic process, much like the student tradition of squeezing as many drunken bodies and kebabs as possible into a phone box.
The result is everything takes aaaages. Like the visas, and getting the internet organised, or trying to buy a SIM card, or getting a CPF.
CPF when its up and dressed? Its stands for 'Cadastro de Pessoas Físicas' and is proof of your
registration on the Physical Persons Register. And you can't have one unless you have a visa. Right. I'm not kidding when I say this. Without a CPF you ain't nothing. Forget it. You ain't havin a microwave, custom kitchen, refrigerator or colour TV. In fact you aint having any household appliances, Dire Straits related or not. Depending on the vendor, you ain't even having a floor mop.
You certainly ain't having a bank account, so if you need some wedge, best tap up your boss for a cash bung on Friday, much like you did your old man when you were ten.
Still, could be worse. Observing basic human rights, the authorities seem to allow purchase of essential food items and it appears that one can procure great big bottles of delicious and refreshing beer without having proof of being on the physical persons register.
So, might just ignore the latest three letter acronymn in my life, and get shitfaced.
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