Oi, Pão! (or how to mind your Carioca p's and q's)

Now i'm sure I'll attract some linguistic advice here, but one of my latest revelations on my roller-coaster Carioca assimilation programme has been the the way people here get each other's attention and address each other.

Like all civilised nations, its a good idea to say excuse me (com licença) before you barge past someone - this occurs more often than you would think. Particularly when you absolutely need to get to the door of the bus or the metro so that you don't end up missing out on an essential after work beer. 

Now, when you inevitably walk straight into someone, once again, like anywhere, 'pardon me' or 'sorry' (desculpe)  is just the ticket. And exactly like 'excuse me' you're going to need it several times a day - especially because walking pace here is only just bordering on momentum, and if you need to complete a hundred yard dash in less than 20 minutes, then I'm afraid you are going to smash into a poor ambling pedestrian at some point or other. I suppose this simpler alternative is just to join the ambling masses. Problem is, the gringo blood still coursing through my veins means that I am inclined to forget - just as the more unscrupulous locals might be inclined to rip me off or mug me.

Here comes the thing I currently find amusing. Its the way that people address each other. In a literal sense. It seems fine to just say what or who people are, or what they are doing. It even seems ok to shout whatever might be on offer just to get the attention of the person who might be offering it.

Cultural querkiness  like this leaves a Gringo like me in a slight predicament. I'm quite happy shouting 'motorista' at the bus driver so that he makes my stop, but simply shouting 'Oi pão!' (oi, bread)  at the guy selling bread in the pub makes me feel slightly like I'm being a wanker. 

For the moment, I'll stick to what I know - I'll call my son 'filho' and I'll call the barman 'Patrão' (because I feel that i'd like it I were called the boss sometimes) - and while I'm sticking to what I know I'll have a couple of beers and see if I can make a list of these wonderful terms of endearment. And if i'm feeling a little braver I might try a couple.  I did try calling my wife 'Mulher' the other day, and I have to say she wasn't sure it was a good idea. More research needed, that's for sure.

What We Did At Rock In Rio

Yes it is his hair. He´s got the receipt.

Well, we went and rocked - and here´s a few things I´d do If I went again. And a few I wouldn´t.

Overall, I have to say it was a fantastic night (we went on friday for Elton John and Katy Perry and some bird called Rhianna), and the sound quality was amazing for such a big event. The big names did their thing with predictable style and the punters loved it.

Ok here goes - do this:

1. Sort out your transport, preferably in both directions. If you want to get a bus the final couple of kilometers, you probably  need to buy a 'Riocard' first.
2. Wear shoes that might offer some defence against the thousand or so clumsy bastards that are going to dance on your feet.
3. Take money in small denominations. Its amazing how the price of a tinny goes up once they lay their eyes on your hefty note. I heard that cans (R$1 in the supermarket) were changing hands for R$20 in the wee hours of Saturday morning.
4. Get some rest before you go. The whole process is pretty knackering, so it might be advisable to not go out and have an accidental skinful the night before.
5. EAT! - Once you get inside, finding yourself hungry might just mean that you die of starvation in a queue to spend your life savings on a ropey looking burger.
6. Check out the whole place! - We caught a great band on Rock Street - well worth a listen.
7. Buy beers MANY at a time. The queue is enough to make you want to cry slowly and meaningfully. At least when the waiting is over, you can get stuck into more than one overpriced Heineken.
8. RELAX, even if your nerves are about to snap. Remember that moving this number of people around is no mean feat. Remember that one of the reasons you came in the first place was to be amoung so many people. Chill out and sing along.
9. SING/SHOUT/WAVE - Heaven knows you paid enough for your ticket.
10. Watch the highlights on telly! - I absolutely loved catching the best bits over a Pizza at 3am.... Almost felt like we were there all over again.

Some bird called Rhianna

And don´t do this

1. Don´t  drink too many before the bus journey.... Obvious advice I know - but the 40 minute bus ride to Barra took us 3 hours! - And nobody´s date likes to see their other half pissing in a bottle, do they?
2. Don´t sit down in the middle of the crowd without any warning (you know who you are!) - Its hard enough thying to make it through the singalong masses, but if a bunch of revellers suddenly decide to make the lawn their living room, then another bunch are going to fall over them.
3. Don´t wear flipflops. Only utter plonkers wear flipflops to Rock in Rio. Guess what I wore? Oh, and don´t wear crocs either - I´m all for starting an anti croc movement for no sensible reason. I just hate them.
4. Don't get too disappointed if things don't go according to plan. In fact, just be glad if you get there.
5. Don´t wander off anywhere outside the Rock in Rio site. Especially not on your own - stick to where the crowds are. There are some really dodgy looking types around.
6. Don´t take a posey camera. In fact, don´t take anything swanky at all.
7. Don´t try and get to the front.  - If you wan´t to be down there, then get there earlier, if not you´re going to spend the whole of the set pissing people off by treading on them.

That´ll do for now I guess. Did I miss anything?



He kissed a girl and he liked it.



Roll out the Barra...

Or more accurately pronounced "bah-ha".....

Twice a week, my commute is out of Zona Sul and off to Barra da Tijuca. Ask people about it! One thing for sure is that you'll be answered with quite a strong opinion. As I see it, the general trend seems to be that Barra is the preferred choice for the folks that live there, and everybody else thinks they're welcome to it.

So what made them move there in the first place? Maybe the lure of cheaper rents for more square metres, maybe the chance to bring kids up in safer, gated condominiums where they can ride their bikes without the certain-death traffic. Maybe the huge swanky shopping malls offering mile upon mile of the latest chiq. Or maybe they wanted to relax on 14 or so kilometres of stunning unspoilt beach.

Or maybe they just wanted to live next to an 8 lane motorway where the death defying tunnel ridden bus ride back into town takes anything from 40 mins to 2 1/2 hours.

Well, there's food for thought anyhow.