In little over 6 hours here we will be welcoming in a New Year, 2017, and around the world to the East of us here in Brazil many countries have already done so. Lots of street parties, lots of alcohol consumed, millions of pound worth of fireworks exploded, no doubt thousands admitted to Emergency Rooms of hospitals around the world too, with partying-related injuries. For what? For the expectation that 2017 may be better than 2016, or that all this partying might make it so??
I will be spending the evening quietly at home alone - I may raise a glass in toast to loved ones far away, but have absolutely no interest in surrounding myself with masses of strangers getting high on alcohol and drugs, and listening to eardrum-bursting levels of music in the streets. I will, however, stay up past midnight, but only because I would be woken up by all the fireworks if I tried to go to sleep earlier! It is almost 40 years since I went out on New Year's Eve, in Durban, South Africa, and though it was enjoyable back then in South Africa, it was also ... I don't know, futile? For many it will probably be the best thing they do all year!!
The last time I celebrated NYE it was a dinner party at home with some close friends, and at midnight we went outside to watch some distant fireworks. We had a few drinks with a lovely meal, and it was far more meaningful and soul uplifting than going out to surround yourself with strangers, all intent on getting drunk as quickly as possible.
But whatever you are doing, however YOU celebrate the arrival of a New Year, I wish everyone all the very best in health and happiness for 2017!
Circumstances made me move to Brazil in 2009, and I spent 6 months of the year there, and the remaining time in Peru, until 2020 when the Covid hit, trapping me in Peru for 14 months, before I managed to return to the UK, where I now reside permanently. I see the world through slightly rose-tinted glasses, but maybe because I have been fortunate in not suffering too many hardships along the way, and maintaining an optimistic, but realistic outlook on life.
Saturday 31 December 2016
Thursday 29 December 2016
Honesty?
I consider myself to be a very honest person - I have never stolen anything in my life, and cannot walk out of a shop if I notice I have been undercharged or given too much change, which happens occasionally. I can even recall years ago once when my mother had sent me up to the row of shops near our house in a Yorkshire village to get her some cigarettes from the machine (I was no more than 12 at the time) - yes, back then cigarettes were available in vending machines - and the machine (owned by the sweet/toy shop there) dispensed 5 packs of Kensitas, instead of one. Without a moment's hesitation I took them into the shop and handed them in - much to the surprise of the lady shopkeeper! I don't recall any formal teaching about honesty, but must have picked it up from my parents/grandparents (we shared a house with them till I was about 4) and have followed that philosophy all my life - if it isn't mine I don't take it!
This has occasionally annoyed (slightly) some friends when we have been out for a meal, say, and I point out an undercharge in the bill - once all our drinks had been left off, which was considerable! I called the waitress over to say there was a problem with the bill, and she instantly called for the manager - who arrived ready for an argument, but was immediately deflated when I showed him our drinks had been left off! I explained later to my friends that had we walked out without paying for the drinks, the waitress would probably have had to meet the shortfall for her mistake, and we knew how poorly they were paid anyway!
I have a young friend here, who looks afer my house during my enforced absences, and he came round the other day asking to borrow my post-hole digging tool as he had acquired a plot of land and wanted to fence it off. Knowing he isn't working, and is always broke I asked him how he got the land, and he says it was vacant so he took it. The conversation then went like this -
Me: "It was vacant, so you stole it?"
Him: "No, I didn't steal it - it is public land"
Me: "Public land? But it must belong to someone."
Him: "Yes, the Municipality, but it is public."
Me: "You cannot just take Municipal land and use it, that is stealing"
Him: "No, they weren't using it and it belongs to the people, so I just took it as I need it. It is the only way I will ever get land to build my own house on."
Me: "So if I want to build a house on a road, which is also 'public' land, that is also OK?"
Him: "No! That is being used so you cannot do that"
Me: "What if the Municipality has plans for the future for that land?"
Him: "Too bad - it is mine now!"
Me: " But that is stealing - you know it doesn't belong to you, you do not and will not ever have legal title to it. If someone comes and takes it you will also have no legal right to protection! Also what about utilities like water and electricity - you cannot get them connected unless you have legal title?"
Him: "That is no problem we will just find the pipes and cables and connect to them."
Me: "So you will steal water and electricity as well?"
Him: "Well, it isn't really stealing - just taking it."
Me: "Taking without paying is also stealing."
Him: "But if I hold the land long enough it will become mine. Everyone is doing it where I live, so it is OK"
Two weeks later I asked him how the land was coming along - "Oh, I don't have it any more ... I sold it!" Now, knowing that this is the mind-set of a friend I have known for 7 years and who I entrust my home to for 6 months every year, fills me with a certain amount of trepidation!
He also was sporting a "diamond" ear stud last time I saw him (if it is a real diamond it is worth thousands, so must be cubic zirconia or similar), so I asked him where he got that (as I mentioned before he is perpetually broke!), and he told me he found it - in his bedroom! So without even bothering to find out who it might really belong to (could be a former girlfriend, or family member as he periodically moves out of the family home) he got his younger sister to pierce his ear with a needle and now wears the stud! And, yes, he considers himself to be a decent, honest person!
"If it ain't nailed down it's mine!"
This has occasionally annoyed (slightly) some friends when we have been out for a meal, say, and I point out an undercharge in the bill - once all our drinks had been left off, which was considerable! I called the waitress over to say there was a problem with the bill, and she instantly called for the manager - who arrived ready for an argument, but was immediately deflated when I showed him our drinks had been left off! I explained later to my friends that had we walked out without paying for the drinks, the waitress would probably have had to meet the shortfall for her mistake, and we knew how poorly they were paid anyway!
I have a young friend here, who looks afer my house during my enforced absences, and he came round the other day asking to borrow my post-hole digging tool as he had acquired a plot of land and wanted to fence it off. Knowing he isn't working, and is always broke I asked him how he got the land, and he says it was vacant so he took it. The conversation then went like this -
Me: "It was vacant, so you stole it?"
Him: "No, I didn't steal it - it is public land"
Me: "Public land? But it must belong to someone."
Him: "Yes, the Municipality, but it is public."
Me: "You cannot just take Municipal land and use it, that is stealing"
Him: "No, they weren't using it and it belongs to the people, so I just took it as I need it. It is the only way I will ever get land to build my own house on."
Me: "So if I want to build a house on a road, which is also 'public' land, that is also OK?"
Him: "No! That is being used so you cannot do that"
Me: "What if the Municipality has plans for the future for that land?"
Him: "Too bad - it is mine now!"
Me: " But that is stealing - you know it doesn't belong to you, you do not and will not ever have legal title to it. If someone comes and takes it you will also have no legal right to protection! Also what about utilities like water and electricity - you cannot get them connected unless you have legal title?"
Him: "That is no problem we will just find the pipes and cables and connect to them."
Me: "So you will steal water and electricity as well?"
Him: "Well, it isn't really stealing - just taking it."
Me: "Taking without paying is also stealing."
Him: "But if I hold the land long enough it will become mine. Everyone is doing it where I live, so it is OK"
Two weeks later I asked him how the land was coming along - "Oh, I don't have it any more ... I sold it!" Now, knowing that this is the mind-set of a friend I have known for 7 years and who I entrust my home to for 6 months every year, fills me with a certain amount of trepidation!
He also was sporting a "diamond" ear stud last time I saw him (if it is a real diamond it is worth thousands, so must be cubic zirconia or similar), so I asked him where he got that (as I mentioned before he is perpetually broke!), and he told me he found it - in his bedroom! So without even bothering to find out who it might really belong to (could be a former girlfriend, or family member as he periodically moves out of the family home) he got his younger sister to pierce his ear with a needle and now wears the stud! And, yes, he considers himself to be a decent, honest person!
"If it ain't nailed down it's mine!"
Thursday 22 December 2016
School Sports - Cricket
As we followed the UK public school model cricket was a major sport for us. We had a beautiful, very well-maintained, "oval" and pavilion, and a couple of other "flat" fields (notably part of the athletics field) that were also suitable for cricket matches.
The game was taken very seriously and our First Eleven competed against other Rhodesian schools (I make no apology for continually referring to "Rhodesia" as that is what the country was called, now Zimbabwe, back when I was at school), and was very successful, as were some of our junior teams. I was not that good, though I did enjoy playing, and we "duffers" used to play in what was referred to as "the leagues" - those of us who didn't make the main teams played a variety of sports, including cricket twice a week, like basketball, tennis, football, on a more casual basis. We played for our "house" (there were 5 residential boarding houses) against other houses with a schoolmaster sometimes in attendance as the "umpire", but it was very informal.
My final year I was appointed house "leagues" captain - I think I was the most senior, semi-sporty person available! In "leagues" I was one of the better batsmen, but more than likely because the bowling was of dubious quality (all the better players being snapped up by the main teams), but elected to play wicket-keeper as captain, as it was a central position where I could keep an eye on things.
The "kit" was supplied by the school and we used to have to go and collect it before the games, so between us we had probably 4 sets of pads, 4 bats, 4 batting gloves (of very poor quality!), 2 sets of stumps, 1 ball and 1 pair of wicket-keeping pads and gloves!
In that company I was pretty good at keeping wicket - the "fast" bowlers were slow-to-medium so I stood up just behind the stumps for all of them and not much got past me. The gloves were old and oft-repaired, though, and didn't have much padding in them,and one day I noticed the school cricket coach had paused on his way home and was watching us play. Sandy Singleton was also a Latin Teacher, but had played cricket for Worcestershire in the UK, and as we finished for the day he called me over and asked to look at the gloves. He said he had been impressed by my keeping, but the gloved left a lot to be desired, so he took them away to repair them (I told him these were the best pair we had in "leagues" so he agreed to look at the rest of the kit - as we got the main team cast-offs!). The following game day he was there with the repaired gloves, now sporting red dimpled covering over the palms, and much more effective!
A couple of weeks later was the start of the inter-house cricket tournament, and our house cricket captain, one of the First XI opening batsmen, sought me out to ask if I would keep wicket for the house team!! Mr Singleton had sung my praise, and as we had no one else who kept wicket too, I was co-opted into the side. My first problem was that I had no cricket kit of my own! So I had to borrow school equipment from the "leagues" locker, including the repaired gloves.
The team training sessions went much better than I anticipated, my catching was well up to standard, though these guys hit and threw the ball ten times harder than my "league" team-mates! However it was when I got behind the stumps to face the first over that I realised the true gulf between the different forms of the game. Even their medium-quick bowlers ran in twice as fast as anything I had faced before, and the quick bowlers ... well, suffice it to say that I no longer "stood up" behind the stumps! I also soon found out I was missed a vital piece of cricketing "attire" - the box! For the non-cricketers out there the "box" is a cup, usually made of plastic, that protects your genitals from being crushed by a very hard ball being propelled towards you at a high rate of speed. After being hit twice in one game - and manfully continuing on after the first hit with barely a tweet of pain - one of my teammates took pity on me and loaned me his "spare". Now the thought of "sharing" an article that is used against the skin to protect a part of the lower anatomy may not appeal to some, but I assure you that it is preferable to the agony of a hard ball hitting the testes!
I kept wicket with a modicum of success throughout the tournament, and even managed to hit 13 runs (3 boundaries and a single) in one game before being caught attempting the 4th boundary ... in the same place! After that I was instructed to block and let the "real" batsmen score the runs - which peeved me a little as I was third highest scorer in the previous game (though we did lose!).
The game was taken very seriously and our First Eleven competed against other Rhodesian schools (I make no apology for continually referring to "Rhodesia" as that is what the country was called, now Zimbabwe, back when I was at school), and was very successful, as were some of our junior teams. I was not that good, though I did enjoy playing, and we "duffers" used to play in what was referred to as "the leagues" - those of us who didn't make the main teams played a variety of sports, including cricket twice a week, like basketball, tennis, football, on a more casual basis. We played for our "house" (there were 5 residential boarding houses) against other houses with a schoolmaster sometimes in attendance as the "umpire", but it was very informal.
My final year I was appointed house "leagues" captain - I think I was the most senior, semi-sporty person available! In "leagues" I was one of the better batsmen, but more than likely because the bowling was of dubious quality (all the better players being snapped up by the main teams), but elected to play wicket-keeper as captain, as it was a central position where I could keep an eye on things.
The "kit" was supplied by the school and we used to have to go and collect it before the games, so between us we had probably 4 sets of pads, 4 bats, 4 batting gloves (of very poor quality!), 2 sets of stumps, 1 ball and 1 pair of wicket-keeping pads and gloves!
In that company I was pretty good at keeping wicket - the "fast" bowlers were slow-to-medium so I stood up just behind the stumps for all of them and not much got past me. The gloves were old and oft-repaired, though, and didn't have much padding in them,and one day I noticed the school cricket coach had paused on his way home and was watching us play. Sandy Singleton was also a Latin Teacher, but had played cricket for Worcestershire in the UK, and as we finished for the day he called me over and asked to look at the gloves. He said he had been impressed by my keeping, but the gloved left a lot to be desired, so he took them away to repair them (I told him these were the best pair we had in "leagues" so he agreed to look at the rest of the kit - as we got the main team cast-offs!). The following game day he was there with the repaired gloves, now sporting red dimpled covering over the palms, and much more effective!
A couple of weeks later was the start of the inter-house cricket tournament, and our house cricket captain, one of the First XI opening batsmen, sought me out to ask if I would keep wicket for the house team!! Mr Singleton had sung my praise, and as we had no one else who kept wicket too, I was co-opted into the side. My first problem was that I had no cricket kit of my own! So I had to borrow school equipment from the "leagues" locker, including the repaired gloves.
The team training sessions went much better than I anticipated, my catching was well up to standard, though these guys hit and threw the ball ten times harder than my "league" team-mates! However it was when I got behind the stumps to face the first over that I realised the true gulf between the different forms of the game. Even their medium-quick bowlers ran in twice as fast as anything I had faced before, and the quick bowlers ... well, suffice it to say that I no longer "stood up" behind the stumps! I also soon found out I was missed a vital piece of cricketing "attire" - the box! For the non-cricketers out there the "box" is a cup, usually made of plastic, that protects your genitals from being crushed by a very hard ball being propelled towards you at a high rate of speed. After being hit twice in one game - and manfully continuing on after the first hit with barely a tweet of pain - one of my teammates took pity on me and loaned me his "spare". Now the thought of "sharing" an article that is used against the skin to protect a part of the lower anatomy may not appeal to some, but I assure you that it is preferable to the agony of a hard ball hitting the testes!
I kept wicket with a modicum of success throughout the tournament, and even managed to hit 13 runs (3 boundaries and a single) in one game before being caught attempting the 4th boundary ... in the same place! After that I was instructed to block and let the "real" batsmen score the runs - which peeved me a little as I was third highest scorer in the previous game (though we did lose!).
Friday 4 November 2016
Furnishing a new home, Part 2
(Part 1 was published separately and covered my tribulations in Salvador)
When I got back to my soon-to-be home town I asked around and was told that Seabra, some 70kms distant, was the local place for furniture, so I headed out full of enthusiasm! There were 2 or 3 larger furniture stores so I chose one and entered, and yes they did deliver to my town!! Great start, so I wandered round again making my selections, but from a much smaller range. Again when I finished a lot were unavailable, but eventually I managed to find enough to cover my needs. They started processing it and came to a total price, so I produced my Visa card (as there was a sign on the door) and they was an awkward silence - "Er, the machine is down, and has been for a month"! As there is a limit to daily withdrawals it would have taken me a week to get the cash to make the purchase, so I again had to look elsewhere!
The next shop I went in: "Do you deliver to Lençois?", "Yes", "Do you accept card payments?", "Yes" - fabulous, let's go! This time the man (who turned out to be one of the owner's sons) came with me - nothing had prices on, but he seemed to know them all by heart (or was charging what he felt I could afford, which was more likely!), and he could also let me know then and there if they were available. Again it took far longer than it should as we kept having to look for alternatives, and often they didn't have quite what I wanted so I had to make compromises - finding a matching wardrobe and chest of drawers was a real challenge, especially if I wanted it to also match the bed! Much of the available furniture was melamine coated, so I knew it would be delivered flat-packed as well.
Eventually we were done so went to the order point and he put it all on the system to produce the invoice - which I had to take to a cashier to pay! Because most people here pay on terms I did get a small discount for paying in full, and also because I was paying with a debit, not a credit, card. Right, now we came to discuss delivery - "How about this Saturday?", he asked - I almost fell off my chair as it was now Thursday afternoon! "Yes, that is fine", "OK, we will be there before 13.00" Handshakes all round and I leave much happier.
On arriving back in Lençois I contact the real estate agent - as the paperwork is still processing I don't officially own the property yet so need to find out if it is OK to have everything delivered there, which she confirms and gives me the keys (having checked with the vendor's daughter who is in town with his power of attorney). I also need to vacate my short-term rental apartment in about a week as they have another tenant booked in, and she also confirms that it is OK for me to move in to the house - on Christmas Eve - even though the conveyancing isn't complete.
Saturday morning I get to the house at 07.00am and do a little cleaning - it has been maintained, though empty, so doesn't need much but I clean the area I want the furniture leaving - expecting a load of flat packs to assemble! The hours pass and no sign of anything, so eventually at 11.30 I give them a call (they told me the truck would leave around 06.00am and it takes about an hour from Seabra) - "Ah, sorry, we had a problem with the truck this morning, but it will be leaving soon", so I wait some more. Knowing that the shop shuts at 13.00 I call again just before then, "Oh, I am afraid they won't be coming today - more truck problems - so how about Tuesday?" Now Tuesday I have to drive to Salvador, I am using a hire car and need to return that, and collect my car which I bought last time I was there - so I ask what time, and they assure me that I will be first delivery, and they leave at 06.00.
Tuesday morning I am back at the house ... waiting. 07.30 I give them a call, "They have just left, and will be with you in an hour" - so much for them leaving at 06.00! Eventually at 09.00 they arrive and start bringing everything in, and the boxes start piling up on the floor. When the last one is brought in one of them produces a couple of screwdrivers and is about to open the boxes - they are going to build the furniture! I didn't know that this was how things are done here - it arrives flat-packed but they assemble them for you. I had to get on the road so told them not to bother and I would do it on my return, and they asked who was going to do the work, and seemed flabbergasted when I said that I would do it myself! They obviously never heard of MFI or IKEA!
Upon my return I started assembling everything, but when I came to one box containing a wardrobe I noticed that one of the corners was damaged, and could see that one of the side panels was damaged inside. Before opening I took a series of photos, and of the damaged panel and called them, saying I was going to be in Seabra the following day and would bring the photos with me - the box itself was too big to fit in or on my car, and I also didn't want them to say I damaged it trying to transport it! They were very apologetic and agreed to send a replacement three days later when they were delivering to another customer in my town.
I was expecting their truck to arrive but it was just two men - not carrying anything! They said they needed to check which side it was - despite me explaining which it was - and told me they had left the truck up on the main road as they didn't like the look of the road down to my house! So they took the damaged panel and returned with an intact one, and then assembled the wardrobe for me!
So finally I had my house partially furnished, and learned a lot about furniture shopping in Brazil!
When I got back to my soon-to-be home town I asked around and was told that Seabra, some 70kms distant, was the local place for furniture, so I headed out full of enthusiasm! There were 2 or 3 larger furniture stores so I chose one and entered, and yes they did deliver to my town!! Great start, so I wandered round again making my selections, but from a much smaller range. Again when I finished a lot were unavailable, but eventually I managed to find enough to cover my needs. They started processing it and came to a total price, so I produced my Visa card (as there was a sign on the door) and they was an awkward silence - "Er, the machine is down, and has been for a month"! As there is a limit to daily withdrawals it would have taken me a week to get the cash to make the purchase, so I again had to look elsewhere!
The next shop I went in: "Do you deliver to Lençois?", "Yes", "Do you accept card payments?", "Yes" - fabulous, let's go! This time the man (who turned out to be one of the owner's sons) came with me - nothing had prices on, but he seemed to know them all by heart (or was charging what he felt I could afford, which was more likely!), and he could also let me know then and there if they were available. Again it took far longer than it should as we kept having to look for alternatives, and often they didn't have quite what I wanted so I had to make compromises - finding a matching wardrobe and chest of drawers was a real challenge, especially if I wanted it to also match the bed! Much of the available furniture was melamine coated, so I knew it would be delivered flat-packed as well.
Eventually we were done so went to the order point and he put it all on the system to produce the invoice - which I had to take to a cashier to pay! Because most people here pay on terms I did get a small discount for paying in full, and also because I was paying with a debit, not a credit, card. Right, now we came to discuss delivery - "How about this Saturday?", he asked - I almost fell off my chair as it was now Thursday afternoon! "Yes, that is fine", "OK, we will be there before 13.00" Handshakes all round and I leave much happier.
On arriving back in Lençois I contact the real estate agent - as the paperwork is still processing I don't officially own the property yet so need to find out if it is OK to have everything delivered there, which she confirms and gives me the keys (having checked with the vendor's daughter who is in town with his power of attorney). I also need to vacate my short-term rental apartment in about a week as they have another tenant booked in, and she also confirms that it is OK for me to move in to the house - on Christmas Eve - even though the conveyancing isn't complete.
Saturday morning I get to the house at 07.00am and do a little cleaning - it has been maintained, though empty, so doesn't need much but I clean the area I want the furniture leaving - expecting a load of flat packs to assemble! The hours pass and no sign of anything, so eventually at 11.30 I give them a call (they told me the truck would leave around 06.00am and it takes about an hour from Seabra) - "Ah, sorry, we had a problem with the truck this morning, but it will be leaving soon", so I wait some more. Knowing that the shop shuts at 13.00 I call again just before then, "Oh, I am afraid they won't be coming today - more truck problems - so how about Tuesday?" Now Tuesday I have to drive to Salvador, I am using a hire car and need to return that, and collect my car which I bought last time I was there - so I ask what time, and they assure me that I will be first delivery, and they leave at 06.00.
Tuesday morning I am back at the house ... waiting. 07.30 I give them a call, "They have just left, and will be with you in an hour" - so much for them leaving at 06.00! Eventually at 09.00 they arrive and start bringing everything in, and the boxes start piling up on the floor. When the last one is brought in one of them produces a couple of screwdrivers and is about to open the boxes - they are going to build the furniture! I didn't know that this was how things are done here - it arrives flat-packed but they assemble them for you. I had to get on the road so told them not to bother and I would do it on my return, and they asked who was going to do the work, and seemed flabbergasted when I said that I would do it myself! They obviously never heard of MFI or IKEA!
Upon my return I started assembling everything, but when I came to one box containing a wardrobe I noticed that one of the corners was damaged, and could see that one of the side panels was damaged inside. Before opening I took a series of photos, and of the damaged panel and called them, saying I was going to be in Seabra the following day and would bring the photos with me - the box itself was too big to fit in or on my car, and I also didn't want them to say I damaged it trying to transport it! They were very apologetic and agreed to send a replacement three days later when they were delivering to another customer in my town.
I was expecting their truck to arrive but it was just two men - not carrying anything! They said they needed to check which side it was - despite me explaining which it was - and told me they had left the truck up on the main road as they didn't like the look of the road down to my house! So they took the damaged panel and returned with an intact one, and then assembled the wardrobe for me!
So finally I had my house partially furnished, and learned a lot about furniture shopping in Brazil!
Furnishing a new home, part 1
While I was waiting for the paperwork to be processed on my house here in Brazil I decided that I would go ahead and start buying furnishings and other things I would need. However these aren't available in the town I live in, and at the time I didn't know what availability was like locally so I decided to look in Salvador, some 400 kms away, while I was there trying to buy a car. I had quite a lot of belongings in storage in the UK (including a washing machine and tumble drier, but until I could get permanent residence I couldn't ship them to Brazil), so I decided to buy cheap household items like pots and pans and cutlery etc.
Salvador is a major city of some 3 million inhabitants, as well as being the state capital of Bahia, so is well supplied with shops. I did some research online to compare prices as well as checking for stores that had good national coverage, so were likely to have a good distribution network.
The first store I went into, armed with an extensive list (including items like a fridge and cooker, and even a kitchen as houses here do not have fitted kitchens!), I was instantly approached by a member of staff offering assistance. "Hi, do you deliver to the Chapada Diamantina?", "Yes, of course", so I told them I would wander round, make my selections and then find them to place the order (they get commission for helping). I took down product codes and prices, and was making my way through the list when another member of staff approached. I was about to explain that I was already being helped, when they asked if I had nearly finished as they were about to shut! It was Saturday and this particular store closed at lunchtime - most are open all day Saturday as well as all day Sunday, but I had picked one that closed! They directed me to another, much larger store nearby that remained open.
I asked the same question about delivery, and they asked someone else who confirmed that they did deliver to my area, so I set off again. I had a slight problem choosing mattresses as they have a number rating system - based on the weight the mattress is rated to support - so needed help selecting the appropriate one, and wasn't too insulted when they pointed out the heaviest rating for mine!
I finally found all I wanted and went to the order desk where they started checking things on the system. Half of the things I had chosen, based on what was on display, were unavailable, and they had no idea when next delivery would be - so I then went again and selected alternatives, which they checked as I went round and finally I had a complete list which they started processing. However when I gave the delivery address as Chapada Diamantina they told me they didn't deliver that far!! I pointed out, rather angrily, that before I started I had asked and it had been confirmed that they did - so they went looking for a supervisor who confirmed that they did not deliver here. By then I had spend around 5 hours in total in their stores so called it a day.
The following day, Sunday, the stores open later so at 11.00am I arrived at a different store - same question about delivery and same confirmation that they did to my area, but an hour into my selecting items they found me and told me apologetically that they didn't deliver that far, even if I offered to pay for it, though they did suggest they could find me a local transport company who could help! I declined and gave up the idea of finding my furnishings in Salvador, though I did manage to buy all the smaller items, including bedding and pillowcases. That also was not without incident as I filled a shopping cart with goods, as well as a couple of additional bags - and they wouldn't let me take the cart to the carpark as it was "against store policy for the carts to leave the store"! A security guard watched over my things as I had to make two trips to my car!
(This will be continued in Part 2)
Salvador is a major city of some 3 million inhabitants, as well as being the state capital of Bahia, so is well supplied with shops. I did some research online to compare prices as well as checking for stores that had good national coverage, so were likely to have a good distribution network.
The first store I went into, armed with an extensive list (including items like a fridge and cooker, and even a kitchen as houses here do not have fitted kitchens!), I was instantly approached by a member of staff offering assistance. "Hi, do you deliver to the Chapada Diamantina?", "Yes, of course", so I told them I would wander round, make my selections and then find them to place the order (they get commission for helping). I took down product codes and prices, and was making my way through the list when another member of staff approached. I was about to explain that I was already being helped, when they asked if I had nearly finished as they were about to shut! It was Saturday and this particular store closed at lunchtime - most are open all day Saturday as well as all day Sunday, but I had picked one that closed! They directed me to another, much larger store nearby that remained open.
I asked the same question about delivery, and they asked someone else who confirmed that they did deliver to my area, so I set off again. I had a slight problem choosing mattresses as they have a number rating system - based on the weight the mattress is rated to support - so needed help selecting the appropriate one, and wasn't too insulted when they pointed out the heaviest rating for mine!
I finally found all I wanted and went to the order desk where they started checking things on the system. Half of the things I had chosen, based on what was on display, were unavailable, and they had no idea when next delivery would be - so I then went again and selected alternatives, which they checked as I went round and finally I had a complete list which they started processing. However when I gave the delivery address as Chapada Diamantina they told me they didn't deliver that far!! I pointed out, rather angrily, that before I started I had asked and it had been confirmed that they did - so they went looking for a supervisor who confirmed that they did not deliver here. By then I had spend around 5 hours in total in their stores so called it a day.
The following day, Sunday, the stores open later so at 11.00am I arrived at a different store - same question about delivery and same confirmation that they did to my area, but an hour into my selecting items they found me and told me apologetically that they didn't deliver that far, even if I offered to pay for it, though they did suggest they could find me a local transport company who could help! I declined and gave up the idea of finding my furnishings in Salvador, though I did manage to buy all the smaller items, including bedding and pillowcases. That also was not without incident as I filled a shopping cart with goods, as well as a couple of additional bags - and they wouldn't let me take the cart to the carpark as it was "against store policy for the carts to leave the store"! A security guard watched over my things as I had to make two trips to my car!
(This will be continued in Part 2)
Thursday 27 October 2016
Crossing the line
A young friend of mine did something today that made me question a lot of things about friendships, and especially ones where there is a large age difference. When I first came to Brazil 7 years ago I volunteered at a small children's charity, and met this young man who was 17 at the time. He had been attending the charity previously, but was now hanging around as he fancied one of the female volunteers from the UK!
He used to come to the charity often, and later developed a more serious relationship with another young English volunteer, which continued after she finished her internship, and she in fact returned the following year for a holiday with him. When she left I think he realised that the relationship was over and it affected him considerably, and he visited me a few times to talk about it and what he wanted from life. He was still at High School at the time, and eventually graduated, which isn't that common amongst young people where I live, though he found it very hard to get regular work in this area, with tourism being the main employer.
I do not make friends easily, I have many acquaintances but very few what I would call "close" friends, but he and I developed a friendship - not a really close one as I felt (still feel) unable to get that close anyone that much younger than me, with different values and different cultural background, but I would consider him a friend. He used to pop in periodically for a chat, or to use my internet, have a coffee, and so on, and on occasions I would pay him to do some odd jobs around the house (like breaking up old floor tiles so I could lay new ones).
He was living at home with his parents and three siblings in a very small house, and had no privacy but couldn't afford to move out and find a place of his own due to irregular low-paid work. When I had to leave Brazil for 6 months due to not having permanent residence I saw a solution to both our problems - I needed someone to look after my house and he needed somewhere to stay, so I asked him if he would like to stay rent-free while I was away, and I would also leave enough money for the utility bills for the duration - effectively all he had to do was provide himself with food (though I understand he went "home" most days for that!!).
This worked well the first two years I had to leave, though, perhaps foolishly, I also gave him some money by way of thanks when I returned. I say "foolishly" as he then started asking how much I would pay him to look after my house, until I pointed out that the rent money he was saving, and not having to pay utilities was worth a lot to him, especially as the alternative was living back at home as he still did not have regular work. I thought that the arrangement had been mutually beneficial, and especially as I considered him a friend, so was surprised that he simply saw it as a financial arrangement.
The third year he said he was only prepared to live in one or two days a week, which I was not happy with, particularly since my house is out of the way, and I just felt that he would not come and check regularly, but he refused to consider living in, so I arranged for a neighbour to keep an eye on my place - but that came at a price!
This year he approached me and asked if he could stay in my house again while I was away - he was out of work, living at home in very cramped accommodation with no privacy, and was very stressed out. I agreed but explained that although I would again leave money for the utility bills I didn't think I could afford to pay him anything much for staying, as again I explained how much he was "saving" by having the run of my house. So he moved in as I left for Peru.
While I was away he messaged me asking how much I was paying him, and again I explained that much would depend on what state the house was in on my return (one year he lost the keys so I had to change all the locks, including 3 padlocks!), but that it wouldn't be a lot, again pointing out the financial and mental benefits of him living in my house. A few weeks later he messaged again asking if I could pay him R$2000 as he needed that to buy a motorbike, or if I could loan him that - and again I responded that there was no way I could afford that, either as payment for staying, or a loan (that I knew he couldn't afford to repay!). I did, however, pay him something upon my return, though by then was questioning our "friendship" as it was beginning to look as though he was only interested in what he could get out of me.
What was I getting out of the relationship? It is hard to tell, though I felt he was a young man with potential, and needed a father figure to offer him guidance, something his own father (who kept walking out on the family and then returning) was not giving him, and he often used to say that he valued my advice and friendship. I was concerned that he used cannabis frequently, and admitted that he had taken harder substances, and on occasions he appeared so spaced out I was worried about him, though he insisted he was simply in a bad place mentally due to lack of work.
So, to the crossing of the line today. He arrived at my door in an obviously very disturbed state - he was holding himself very stiff, staring straight ahead, and barely speaking. We had a coffee and he relaxed a little, and told me he had to find somewhere to stay as he was feeling claustrophobic at home as he had no privacy, but also had no money to rent anywhere (he had asked me before if he could rent a room from me but I told him at the time that the almost 40 year age difference would be a big problem as I wanted peace and quiet and he liked to play music loud all the time!). He asked for another coffee and we chatted some more.
He kept fiddling with himself "down there", something which is actually commonplace here so didn't worry me unduly, but then placed his hand inside his shorts and took his erect penis out!! I immediately remonstrated with him, explaining that this was something you didn't do in company, and he put it away but he replied that this wasn't "company" but friends, and he needed to do something to relax. I pointed out that this was not the place for that, and asked if he would do it in front of his parents, brothers and sisters, or male friends, and when he said "no way!" asked then why he felt it OK to do it in front of me, as this was extremely disrespectful.
He said he couldn't do it at home, even in the bathroom as they would know what he was doing, but I told him that no matter what it was rude, insulting and disrespectful to think it was OK in my presence. He then said he thought I might want to watch! I explained that just because he didn't see me chasing women that didn't mean I was interested in men, and he said he didn't mean that, but maybe I liked both. I again pointed out that even if I did like men, it would be shocking if a male friend I was not in a physical relationship with started doing that in front of me - but he said he would do that with a female friend as well! He asked how I would react if a woman started playing with herself in front of me, and I said that unless we were in a relationship I would be equally shocked and offended.
He apologised, though I told him I was not sure I could accept the apology as he had crossed a line, and what had happened could not be undone by simple words, especially as by his conversation afterwards it did not appear as though he felt he had done anything wrong.
He stayed a while longer before asking to borrow some money for cigarettes and then left. Leaving me wondering what had happened and what it meant to our "friendship". Did he think I was friends because I "desired" him in some way? Did others view a friendship between a 63 year old man and a 24 year old in that way? Was any friendship between men with such an age difference possible without appearing "odd"? Was I incredibly naive in believing that I could have an innocent friendship with a much younger man, especially in a country where they consider every Gringo to be rich? I mean, I know that despite him claiming that I am probably his "only friend" here I now that his understanding of "friend" is probably a lot different to mine - I am his go-to guy, when he needs a lift, or to borrow some money, or simply a quiet place to go to talk to someone. We are from completely different backgrounds, educationally, socially and culturally so don't have a lot in common, and I know that I will never view him in quite the same way in the future - I did in fact warn him that if he ever pulled a stunt like that again he would never come to my house again. I am too trusting, and always try and see the good in people, and that faith in my fellow man has been sorely tested yet again!
He used to come to the charity often, and later developed a more serious relationship with another young English volunteer, which continued after she finished her internship, and she in fact returned the following year for a holiday with him. When she left I think he realised that the relationship was over and it affected him considerably, and he visited me a few times to talk about it and what he wanted from life. He was still at High School at the time, and eventually graduated, which isn't that common amongst young people where I live, though he found it very hard to get regular work in this area, with tourism being the main employer.
I do not make friends easily, I have many acquaintances but very few what I would call "close" friends, but he and I developed a friendship - not a really close one as I felt (still feel) unable to get that close anyone that much younger than me, with different values and different cultural background, but I would consider him a friend. He used to pop in periodically for a chat, or to use my internet, have a coffee, and so on, and on occasions I would pay him to do some odd jobs around the house (like breaking up old floor tiles so I could lay new ones).
He was living at home with his parents and three siblings in a very small house, and had no privacy but couldn't afford to move out and find a place of his own due to irregular low-paid work. When I had to leave Brazil for 6 months due to not having permanent residence I saw a solution to both our problems - I needed someone to look after my house and he needed somewhere to stay, so I asked him if he would like to stay rent-free while I was away, and I would also leave enough money for the utility bills for the duration - effectively all he had to do was provide himself with food (though I understand he went "home" most days for that!!).
This worked well the first two years I had to leave, though, perhaps foolishly, I also gave him some money by way of thanks when I returned. I say "foolishly" as he then started asking how much I would pay him to look after my house, until I pointed out that the rent money he was saving, and not having to pay utilities was worth a lot to him, especially as the alternative was living back at home as he still did not have regular work. I thought that the arrangement had been mutually beneficial, and especially as I considered him a friend, so was surprised that he simply saw it as a financial arrangement.
The third year he said he was only prepared to live in one or two days a week, which I was not happy with, particularly since my house is out of the way, and I just felt that he would not come and check regularly, but he refused to consider living in, so I arranged for a neighbour to keep an eye on my place - but that came at a price!
This year he approached me and asked if he could stay in my house again while I was away - he was out of work, living at home in very cramped accommodation with no privacy, and was very stressed out. I agreed but explained that although I would again leave money for the utility bills I didn't think I could afford to pay him anything much for staying, as again I explained how much he was "saving" by having the run of my house. So he moved in as I left for Peru.
While I was away he messaged me asking how much I was paying him, and again I explained that much would depend on what state the house was in on my return (one year he lost the keys so I had to change all the locks, including 3 padlocks!), but that it wouldn't be a lot, again pointing out the financial and mental benefits of him living in my house. A few weeks later he messaged again asking if I could pay him R$2000 as he needed that to buy a motorbike, or if I could loan him that - and again I responded that there was no way I could afford that, either as payment for staying, or a loan (that I knew he couldn't afford to repay!). I did, however, pay him something upon my return, though by then was questioning our "friendship" as it was beginning to look as though he was only interested in what he could get out of me.
What was I getting out of the relationship? It is hard to tell, though I felt he was a young man with potential, and needed a father figure to offer him guidance, something his own father (who kept walking out on the family and then returning) was not giving him, and he often used to say that he valued my advice and friendship. I was concerned that he used cannabis frequently, and admitted that he had taken harder substances, and on occasions he appeared so spaced out I was worried about him, though he insisted he was simply in a bad place mentally due to lack of work.
So, to the crossing of the line today. He arrived at my door in an obviously very disturbed state - he was holding himself very stiff, staring straight ahead, and barely speaking. We had a coffee and he relaxed a little, and told me he had to find somewhere to stay as he was feeling claustrophobic at home as he had no privacy, but also had no money to rent anywhere (he had asked me before if he could rent a room from me but I told him at the time that the almost 40 year age difference would be a big problem as I wanted peace and quiet and he liked to play music loud all the time!). He asked for another coffee and we chatted some more.
He kept fiddling with himself "down there", something which is actually commonplace here so didn't worry me unduly, but then placed his hand inside his shorts and took his erect penis out!! I immediately remonstrated with him, explaining that this was something you didn't do in company, and he put it away but he replied that this wasn't "company" but friends, and he needed to do something to relax. I pointed out that this was not the place for that, and asked if he would do it in front of his parents, brothers and sisters, or male friends, and when he said "no way!" asked then why he felt it OK to do it in front of me, as this was extremely disrespectful.
He said he couldn't do it at home, even in the bathroom as they would know what he was doing, but I told him that no matter what it was rude, insulting and disrespectful to think it was OK in my presence. He then said he thought I might want to watch! I explained that just because he didn't see me chasing women that didn't mean I was interested in men, and he said he didn't mean that, but maybe I liked both. I again pointed out that even if I did like men, it would be shocking if a male friend I was not in a physical relationship with started doing that in front of me - but he said he would do that with a female friend as well! He asked how I would react if a woman started playing with herself in front of me, and I said that unless we were in a relationship I would be equally shocked and offended.
He apologised, though I told him I was not sure I could accept the apology as he had crossed a line, and what had happened could not be undone by simple words, especially as by his conversation afterwards it did not appear as though he felt he had done anything wrong.
He stayed a while longer before asking to borrow some money for cigarettes and then left. Leaving me wondering what had happened and what it meant to our "friendship". Did he think I was friends because I "desired" him in some way? Did others view a friendship between a 63 year old man and a 24 year old in that way? Was any friendship between men with such an age difference possible without appearing "odd"? Was I incredibly naive in believing that I could have an innocent friendship with a much younger man, especially in a country where they consider every Gringo to be rich? I mean, I know that despite him claiming that I am probably his "only friend" here I now that his understanding of "friend" is probably a lot different to mine - I am his go-to guy, when he needs a lift, or to borrow some money, or simply a quiet place to go to talk to someone. We are from completely different backgrounds, educationally, socially and culturally so don't have a lot in common, and I know that I will never view him in quite the same way in the future - I did in fact warn him that if he ever pulled a stunt like that again he would never come to my house again. I am too trusting, and always try and see the good in people, and that faith in my fellow man has been sorely tested yet again!
Wednesday 28 September 2016
School Sports - Rugby Union
Being a boarding school (known as a Public School in the UK, though really should be a "private" school as entry was by entrance exam and high school fees!) modelled on the UK system (we used to sit Oxford and Cambridge O and A levels) I suppose it was natural that Rugby (Union, not League where physical contact was minimal!) was our main sport.
We had a very successful 1st XV and every weekend they played either at home or away at another school. The school had a bus and a lorry - with seating in the rear - to take the teams to other schools and it was always quite an adventure.
We were a relatively small school back then, with only around 350 pupils, but still managed to field an amazing array of teams - Seniors (1st through 4th XV's), Middles (under 15 and under 16, A and B sides!) and Juniors (under 14 A and B) - meaning that around 150 pupils, plus some reserves, competed every weekend, out of 350!
I don't recall that much about my junior or middle school years as far as Rugby was concerned, other than we were expected to go and support the First team when they played at home on Saturday. We had to turn up smartly dressed in school tracksuit, and had to cheer vociferously, goaded by a "cheerleader" who was a school prefect, and woe betide anyone he felt was not stretching his lungs to the limit!
We had to play Rugby twice a week, though I do not recall any formal coaching for those of us who did not compete in a school team, we simply turned up where a teacher was waiting, he would separate us into two roughly equal teams (we didn't always have a full 15) and we would play a game.
When I entered Fifth Form (penultimate school year) the Senior game was somewhat different, as by then numbers of older pupils were down (many left after O levels either because they were going on to other higher education, or simply were too thick to continue on to A level!), so we were clumped into 2 "games", first and second. First "Game" produced the 1st and 2nd XV teams, and they used to train together, and the second "Game" produced the 3rd and 4th XV teams - 3rd's was really the under 17 team, but 4th's was more of a social side - made up of those older pupils not good enough to make a "proper" team (some bigger schools had many more teams that we did), and this is where I fit in! I was competitive as I was pretty fit back then, and played winger as I was also fairly fleet of foot.
Our school was one of only a handful of multi-racial schools - most of the state schools were "whites only", which meant that they would not permit our "non-white" players from competing at their venues! So while I played regularly for the 4th XV some weeks I would be called up to the first "game" to train with the 1st and 2nd XV for an away game. Training with them was a painful experience - these guys were muscle-bound professionals compared to our social players (think 3rd Division football team playing against Premier League side!), and though I had the speed to keep up with them, I used to get trampled underfoot, or, on one occasion, picked up by my shirt collar and thrown into touch!
I had clear instructions for the main game - get rid of the ball as quickly as possible, and use my speed to keep everyone on-side! So for line-outs on my side of the field (when the correct coded instruction was given - "peaches") my role was to follow the kicked ball (that was what "peaches" meant) by sprinting down the touchline to keep everyone on-side, and on no account touch the ball (my ball-handling skills were not up to 2nd XV standard!). On one occasion, however, the ball took a bad bounce and was directly in my path - and as there were no team-mates nearby, nor any opponents, I just had to catch the ball and run in for a try! Although at the end of the game that score separated the two teams I was still told off for not following instructions! Also I hadn't thought to cut in and score under the posts, but simply continued running straight and scored out near the touchline! I still don't think I stopped smiling for three days though!
Our school had extremely good sports pitches - even the training pitches were green and lush and flat - but this was not always the case at other schools. Some pitches had almost no grass and were like playing on concrete! Our coaches always drilled into us "tackle low to bring the player down" (we would be penalised for "above the knee" tackles!), but on these hard pitches this was extremely painful and we used to travel home with skinned knees and hips, and we used to carry the scars throughout the Rugby term!
We had a very successful 1st XV and every weekend they played either at home or away at another school. The school had a bus and a lorry - with seating in the rear - to take the teams to other schools and it was always quite an adventure.
We were a relatively small school back then, with only around 350 pupils, but still managed to field an amazing array of teams - Seniors (1st through 4th XV's), Middles (under 15 and under 16, A and B sides!) and Juniors (under 14 A and B) - meaning that around 150 pupils, plus some reserves, competed every weekend, out of 350!
I don't recall that much about my junior or middle school years as far as Rugby was concerned, other than we were expected to go and support the First team when they played at home on Saturday. We had to turn up smartly dressed in school tracksuit, and had to cheer vociferously, goaded by a "cheerleader" who was a school prefect, and woe betide anyone he felt was not stretching his lungs to the limit!
We had to play Rugby twice a week, though I do not recall any formal coaching for those of us who did not compete in a school team, we simply turned up where a teacher was waiting, he would separate us into two roughly equal teams (we didn't always have a full 15) and we would play a game.
When I entered Fifth Form (penultimate school year) the Senior game was somewhat different, as by then numbers of older pupils were down (many left after O levels either because they were going on to other higher education, or simply were too thick to continue on to A level!), so we were clumped into 2 "games", first and second. First "Game" produced the 1st and 2nd XV teams, and they used to train together, and the second "Game" produced the 3rd and 4th XV teams - 3rd's was really the under 17 team, but 4th's was more of a social side - made up of those older pupils not good enough to make a "proper" team (some bigger schools had many more teams that we did), and this is where I fit in! I was competitive as I was pretty fit back then, and played winger as I was also fairly fleet of foot.
Our school was one of only a handful of multi-racial schools - most of the state schools were "whites only", which meant that they would not permit our "non-white" players from competing at their venues! So while I played regularly for the 4th XV some weeks I would be called up to the first "game" to train with the 1st and 2nd XV for an away game. Training with them was a painful experience - these guys were muscle-bound professionals compared to our social players (think 3rd Division football team playing against Premier League side!), and though I had the speed to keep up with them, I used to get trampled underfoot, or, on one occasion, picked up by my shirt collar and thrown into touch!
I had clear instructions for the main game - get rid of the ball as quickly as possible, and use my speed to keep everyone on-side! So for line-outs on my side of the field (when the correct coded instruction was given - "peaches") my role was to follow the kicked ball (that was what "peaches" meant) by sprinting down the touchline to keep everyone on-side, and on no account touch the ball (my ball-handling skills were not up to 2nd XV standard!). On one occasion, however, the ball took a bad bounce and was directly in my path - and as there were no team-mates nearby, nor any opponents, I just had to catch the ball and run in for a try! Although at the end of the game that score separated the two teams I was still told off for not following instructions! Also I hadn't thought to cut in and score under the posts, but simply continued running straight and scored out near the touchline! I still don't think I stopped smiling for three days though!
Our school had extremely good sports pitches - even the training pitches were green and lush and flat - but this was not always the case at other schools. Some pitches had almost no grass and were like playing on concrete! Our coaches always drilled into us "tackle low to bring the player down" (we would be penalised for "above the knee" tackles!), but on these hard pitches this was extremely painful and we used to travel home with skinned knees and hips, and we used to carry the scars throughout the Rugby term!
Saturday 24 September 2016
School sports (part three) - Athletics
My final year at boarding school our athletics coach recognised that I had a certain talent for Hurdling so I became what was called a "school athlete" - this meant that we didn't take part in the usual sports programme during athletics term but were expected to attend formal training sessions. The "usual" programme entailed participation in the Standards Competition, mentioned in an earlier post. There were sporting activities every afternoon all year round - Monday, Wednesday and Friday it was one session after tea, but Tuesday and Thursday it was all afternoon, including a break (and sometimes sport change) for tea. There was a timetable, I am afraid I do not recall the details, but you could go from event to event trying to achieve your "standard" in the different disciplines. Many of these "venues" were manned by pupils, rather than staff, who were occupied with technical events that required, say, timekeeping, so a couple of pupils would monitor the high jump armed with a clipboard and measuring equipment and record the results. Cross country "standards" competition races were arranged a few times a term as well, in order for pupils to try and improve their standards, and as a school athlete you weren't expected to compete in these (though I participated a couple of times to try and get my A) - compulsory for everyone else who didn't have the A standard.
So I used to go down to the athletics field every afternoon for "training", and was put with the "sprint" training group. It entailed a lot of running! We used to walk, jog then sprint round the 400 metre track for several circuits, then do "start training" - lining up as if for a race and then respond to the starting pistol, but only run 20 metres or so to practice starts. The coach felt that I was possibly anticipating the gun, and false started me several times, till he realised that I simply had fast response times, which I needed as my sprinting speed was not great!
After a couple of weeks of this training I asked him about my specialised hurdle training, and he admitted that he knew little about the discipline, so felt that I was best suited to simply work on my sprinting! I knew that hurdling was more about technique than simple speed, which was obvious as I was easily beating most of the much faster sprinters over the barriers, so I asked if I could devise my own programme, though I would continue to do some training with the sprinters - and fortunately he agreed. We had a "middle" level athlete who was an excellent hurdler, and who had received some proper training prior to coming to our school, so I joined up with him, and some afternoons we could be found doing (painful!) stretching exercises, and training over barriers one notch lower than our racing height (to get low down and more efficient!). He was also, incidentally, a very good sprinter, so much of the time I could be found training alone, but my times continued to improve so the coach didn't mind!
When we attended athletics events at other schools I travelled along as "first reserve", but never got to compete, though I ended the year, and my time at boarding school, as the third best hurdler (one of the top two was a top-notch sprinter so didn't compete as a hurdler for the school), let down only by my sprinting speed, as I had the best hurdling technique and generally used to reach the final barrier ahead of everyone else!
So I used to go down to the athletics field every afternoon for "training", and was put with the "sprint" training group. It entailed a lot of running! We used to walk, jog then sprint round the 400 metre track for several circuits, then do "start training" - lining up as if for a race and then respond to the starting pistol, but only run 20 metres or so to practice starts. The coach felt that I was possibly anticipating the gun, and false started me several times, till he realised that I simply had fast response times, which I needed as my sprinting speed was not great!
After a couple of weeks of this training I asked him about my specialised hurdle training, and he admitted that he knew little about the discipline, so felt that I was best suited to simply work on my sprinting! I knew that hurdling was more about technique than simple speed, which was obvious as I was easily beating most of the much faster sprinters over the barriers, so I asked if I could devise my own programme, though I would continue to do some training with the sprinters - and fortunately he agreed. We had a "middle" level athlete who was an excellent hurdler, and who had received some proper training prior to coming to our school, so I joined up with him, and some afternoons we could be found doing (painful!) stretching exercises, and training over barriers one notch lower than our racing height (to get low down and more efficient!). He was also, incidentally, a very good sprinter, so much of the time I could be found training alone, but my times continued to improve so the coach didn't mind!
When we attended athletics events at other schools I travelled along as "first reserve", but never got to compete, though I ended the year, and my time at boarding school, as the third best hurdler (one of the top two was a top-notch sprinter so didn't compete as a hurdler for the school), let down only by my sprinting speed, as I had the best hurdling technique and generally used to reach the final barrier ahead of everyone else!
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| This was the 180 metre hurdle race on Sport's Day over lower hurdles |
School Sports (part two) - Athletics cross-country.
Athletics term kicked off with a cross country race, where the whole school competed in three different age groups, and on different courses - I hate long distance running!! Standards were awarded for the finishing times, grades A, B and C, which equated to 4, 3 and 2 points in the "standards competition", which was a term-long inter-house competition. In the rest of the competition we had 6 Field and Track events to complete, our choice, but you had to do at least 2 Field or Track in your selection. These were graded A, B and C, (3, 2 and 1), so your maximum points tally could be 22 - 4 from cross country and 18 from the rest. My best tally was 21 - yes, cross country never yielded me my A standard!
What was frustrating for me with cross country is an inability to pace myself, I used to either burn myself out before half distance and then stagger home, or start too slowly and have too much energy left at the end, after finding out I hadn't run fast enough!! The runners who achieved their standards in the main event at the beginning of term didn't have to do it again - they already had their points - but the rest of us could try it again around 4 more times throughout the term. In the early years I was back in the pack in these additional races, with not much hope of achieving my A, but in the final two years I was the pacemaker as one of the top athletes still in the hunt for an A - and I never did manage to get the pace right! We didn't have stop watches or anything like that, and many of us ran barefoot or in ordinary trainers, so it was all down to trying to work out the pace in your head. The course took us around the very large school estate, through pine plantations, through or over gates (I used to vault them to save time), round granite rocks, up and down Monkey Hill (there was a pretty steep path and a challenge to everyone, but I tried to run it, where most walked), and then down dirt school roads to the athletics field where we had to do a circuit to the finish. My best efforts died on the final lap - our athletics coach used to stand at the finish line with a stopwatch, and as the standard ran down he used to raise his floppy white hat with 10 seconds to go, and drop it as the time ran out. I once made it to the final 80 yards straight - and walked off as the hat dropped, much to the disgust of my Housemaster! - and once got to within a couple of yards before he called time! That was to be my last attempt, as he wouldn't let me try again as he felt it was jeopardising my hurdle training!
Our school was multi-racial, which was unusual in Rhodesia back then as all state-run schools were whites only, but there were one or two "private" (in the UK these would be called "public" schools) that also had open-door policies. It meant that when we competed in any sport at state schools we could only send white participants, but that events at ours were always multi-racial. So we hosted a major inter-schools cross-country competition every year - and boy could some of these guys run! If memory serves there were around 12-15 schools competing, with 8 runners in each of three age groups. Each school was appointed an "escort" per age group who showed the runners the course, took them to meals, and collected their times at the end of the event. I recall being the escort for Waddilove seniors one year, and they spent all the time talking in Shona, so I never understood a word! The first 5 finishers in each age group scored points in the final tally, and the school with the lowest score won - Waddilove were one of the schools that produced incredible runners every year, and I think that year all 5 senior scorers finished in the top 10!
What was frustrating for me with cross country is an inability to pace myself, I used to either burn myself out before half distance and then stagger home, or start too slowly and have too much energy left at the end, after finding out I hadn't run fast enough!! The runners who achieved their standards in the main event at the beginning of term didn't have to do it again - they already had their points - but the rest of us could try it again around 4 more times throughout the term. In the early years I was back in the pack in these additional races, with not much hope of achieving my A, but in the final two years I was the pacemaker as one of the top athletes still in the hunt for an A - and I never did manage to get the pace right! We didn't have stop watches or anything like that, and many of us ran barefoot or in ordinary trainers, so it was all down to trying to work out the pace in your head. The course took us around the very large school estate, through pine plantations, through or over gates (I used to vault them to save time), round granite rocks, up and down Monkey Hill (there was a pretty steep path and a challenge to everyone, but I tried to run it, where most walked), and then down dirt school roads to the athletics field where we had to do a circuit to the finish. My best efforts died on the final lap - our athletics coach used to stand at the finish line with a stopwatch, and as the standard ran down he used to raise his floppy white hat with 10 seconds to go, and drop it as the time ran out. I once made it to the final 80 yards straight - and walked off as the hat dropped, much to the disgust of my Housemaster! - and once got to within a couple of yards before he called time! That was to be my last attempt, as he wouldn't let me try again as he felt it was jeopardising my hurdle training!
Our school was multi-racial, which was unusual in Rhodesia back then as all state-run schools were whites only, but there were one or two "private" (in the UK these would be called "public" schools) that also had open-door policies. It meant that when we competed in any sport at state schools we could only send white participants, but that events at ours were always multi-racial. So we hosted a major inter-schools cross-country competition every year - and boy could some of these guys run! If memory serves there were around 12-15 schools competing, with 8 runners in each of three age groups. Each school was appointed an "escort" per age group who showed the runners the course, took them to meals, and collected their times at the end of the event. I recall being the escort for Waddilove seniors one year, and they spent all the time talking in Shona, so I never understood a word! The first 5 finishers in each age group scored points in the final tally, and the school with the lowest score won - Waddilove were one of the schools that produced incredible runners every year, and I think that year all 5 senior scorers finished in the top 10!
Wednesday 18 May 2016
School Sports - Overview
I have never considered myself to be a "sporty type", possibly because I am not competitive enough - I have never had any overwhelming desire to be the best ... at anything! This could be related to my innate shyness, and not wishing to be in the spotlight, or just that I never thought I was good enough to try that bit harder to be the best. That doesn't mean I didn't try, or train hard when it was needed, but I never went that extra mile that top sportspeople need to go to be the best, or try to be the best. I suppose I was as good as I wanted to be.
The first competitive event I can remember was an Obstacle course at primary school, which to my surprise I won in my age group! (I may still have the certificate somewhere!) This, of course, was back in the days when children were allowed to "win" or "lose", which I think is great for character development. Sports day at Grammar school a few years later and I came second in the junior hurdles - let down by my sprinting, or lack of it, I was first over all the barriers but caught on the final run in to the tape!
So when I arrived at boarding school in Rhodesia, in 1967, I thought of myself as a "hurdler"! I had gone up in age group, and in hurdle height, but I was still the same size as before and could barely get over the hurdles - I still couldn't sprint very fast! However I did persevere and the following year managed a reasonable time and placement.
At boarding school sports were very important, not only for the exercise and health benefits, but because we had so much "spare" time as boarders. Different terms meant different sports became priorities, so we had a Rugby Term, a Cricket Term, a Hockey Term, and an Athletics Term. Football (soccer to those of you from strange countries where FOOT-ball, is played with very little foot and ball contact, and the ball is egg-shaped!) was considered to be a "minor" sport, and though I did play for the school at senior level against some of the local African schools it was not really recognised. Tennis and basketball were also "minor" sports, and we also tried out squash, volleyball and water polo. We did have an inter-house swimming gala every year, which my boarding house (one of five) used to do particularly well in, though swimming also was not a "major" sport.
When I arrived there I was not very tall (at 5'10", 1.74m - I suppose I am not THAT tall now!) and certainly not very fit, so struggled at sports, in which participation was compulsory. It was Rugby term, and we had to attend the First XV match on Saturday afternoon and cheer them on - our school always produced a pretty good senior team, who did well against the other schools - and we used to get yelled at if the "cheerleader" (a school prefect!) didn't think we were shouting loud enough! This was the only sport where support was compulsory, so I guess we were a Rugby school!
I did eventually compete for the school at Rugby (regular in the 4th XV, and occasional in the 2nd XV - more about that in another post) and Football, and for my house in Cricket, Hockey, Tennis, Squash (not my finest hour - the only reason I "played" squash was because there was a good smoking spot close by, and walking down with a racquet in your hand didn't raise suspicions. My opponent was a fellow 6th former from another house, who happened to be the school #1 and also played in a local squash league. He took pity on me and played left-handed - and I still didn't score a single point!), and athletics. Never covered myself in glory, but also (except for Pole Vault) didn't embarrass myself either!
To keep this post short I will deal with individual sports separately in other posts.
The first competitive event I can remember was an Obstacle course at primary school, which to my surprise I won in my age group! (I may still have the certificate somewhere!) This, of course, was back in the days when children were allowed to "win" or "lose", which I think is great for character development. Sports day at Grammar school a few years later and I came second in the junior hurdles - let down by my sprinting, or lack of it, I was first over all the barriers but caught on the final run in to the tape!
So when I arrived at boarding school in Rhodesia, in 1967, I thought of myself as a "hurdler"! I had gone up in age group, and in hurdle height, but I was still the same size as before and could barely get over the hurdles - I still couldn't sprint very fast! However I did persevere and the following year managed a reasonable time and placement.
At boarding school sports were very important, not only for the exercise and health benefits, but because we had so much "spare" time as boarders. Different terms meant different sports became priorities, so we had a Rugby Term, a Cricket Term, a Hockey Term, and an Athletics Term. Football (soccer to those of you from strange countries where FOOT-ball, is played with very little foot and ball contact, and the ball is egg-shaped!) was considered to be a "minor" sport, and though I did play for the school at senior level against some of the local African schools it was not really recognised. Tennis and basketball were also "minor" sports, and we also tried out squash, volleyball and water polo. We did have an inter-house swimming gala every year, which my boarding house (one of five) used to do particularly well in, though swimming also was not a "major" sport.
When I arrived there I was not very tall (at 5'10", 1.74m - I suppose I am not THAT tall now!) and certainly not very fit, so struggled at sports, in which participation was compulsory. It was Rugby term, and we had to attend the First XV match on Saturday afternoon and cheer them on - our school always produced a pretty good senior team, who did well against the other schools - and we used to get yelled at if the "cheerleader" (a school prefect!) didn't think we were shouting loud enough! This was the only sport where support was compulsory, so I guess we were a Rugby school!
I did eventually compete for the school at Rugby (regular in the 4th XV, and occasional in the 2nd XV - more about that in another post) and Football, and for my house in Cricket, Hockey, Tennis, Squash (not my finest hour - the only reason I "played" squash was because there was a good smoking spot close by, and walking down with a racquet in your hand didn't raise suspicions. My opponent was a fellow 6th former from another house, who happened to be the school #1 and also played in a local squash league. He took pity on me and played left-handed - and I still didn't score a single point!), and athletics. Never covered myself in glory, but also (except for Pole Vault) didn't embarrass myself either!
To keep this post short I will deal with individual sports separately in other posts.
Friday 29 January 2016
Not looking for romance
I am a simple person, well after all, I am a man, at least last time I looked, and I like life uncomplicated.
While in Peru in 2014 I was leaving my apartment one day when I came across a lady standing in the street looking up at the building - she asked me about the apartments as she was looking for somewhere to move to (though she was put off by the rent I quoted I was paying!). When she heard my accent she asked where I was from, and then told me she had an English friend, who, like me, spent 6 months a year in Huanchaco, and we should meet up. Yay, I love matchmakers! We are both English, both single, and therefore must want to hook up. I made some excuses about being busy at the moment and went on my way, thinking that would be the end of it.
Two weeks later there is a knock on my door - she (the Peruvian lady, not her English friend) had tried every apartment looking for me, which wasn't that hard as there were only 4 of them. I invited her in out of courtesy, and she told me her friend was about to return to the UK, but also told me a potted version of her own life history - single mum (I guessed mid-forties), ex-husband in Argentina, where she lived with him for many years, doesn't know anyone here so is lonely (though has family in Trujillo, 10 kms, away as that is where she was originally from), no social life, and so on. I could barely get a word in edgewise, and she spoke very fast, but my understanding of Spanish was up to the task.
She again invited me round to meet her friend, for coffee or a meal, and again I made my excuses - I was just about to embark on my first motorbike trip - but she gave me her business card (she worked in a beauty salon) with phone number and email address, and asked me to get in touch when I got back.
As soon as she left I sent an email trying to explain that I was not looking for a relationship with anyone, hoped I had not misunderstood her intentions, and wishing her well. I hoped that might be the end of it! But a week later she again arrives at my apartment - she is unable to access her emails. so never got my message! Her friend has now left and she is very lonely, and only has her 10 year-old son for company, and never gets a chance to go out. I ask her about her family in Trujillo, and she says she doesn't really get on with them, as they disapproved of her marriage to an Argentinian and move there, so they won't help her, and also she lost touch with all her old friends while out of the country for so long.
I am feeling very uneasy about all this, especially as she keeps saying how important my friendship is - but my command of Spanish is not up explaining this effectively, and I get the impression she is not really listening to what I am saying anyway, and I trying so hard to say that I am not interested. After she goes I even try sending text messages, but next time I see her she says she cannot access text messages on her phone!
She even brings her son round to meet me one afternoon, on the way back from school! Then one evening she comes round in a really bad state, all weepy and saying how things are really tough for her, and has no-one to talk to, and values my friendship and really thinks highly of me - and I have no idea how to respond to this as I do not want to encourage her, but have no idea how to gently explain my feelings, and hoping I am not putting out the wrong signals, as everything I am doing seem to be encouraging her. A couple of days later she comes round in the morning, and after a good deal of beating around the bush asks if she can borrow 50 Soles (around £12), as work is slow and she needs to buy some food for her son. Yeah, I know, alarm bells are now going off, but I agree, hoping that this will change the relationship dynamics.
I start ignoring the door, too, as I can see who is there without being seen, both day and night - cruel, I suppose, but I cannot think of a better way of getting the message across. Things do go quiet for a while - I am doing some more trips on my bike, and don't see her at my door. Then I am on the way, on foot, to the market one morning when I bump into her with another man, who she introduces as her ex visiting from Argentina. She pays me back the 50 Soles, which I never expected to see again, and invites me for coffee with them both as her ex-husband is only visiting to see his son for a few days. Iam genuinely on a tight schedule so make my excuses. Then 2 days later I bump into him on his own, and he again invites me for coffee - I try to explain that I don't think it is a good idea, but I have trouble explaining things like this in English, let alone in a foreign language!
That wasn't long before my time in Peru in 2014 ended, and I didn't see either of them again before I left. 2015 I stayed in a different apartment block and saw no sign of her, so thought she must have finally got the message, and possibly moved away as well because Huanchaco is a very small town. That is until two weeks before I was leaving to return to Brazil. I often walk along the seafront promenade in Huanchaco, as I love the sea and definitely need the exercise, though I do tend to avoid the busiest times (festivals, weekends, and so on). This particular day was a Saturday and I had walked along about half the length of the promenade, which was fairly busy, but as is my wont I wasn't paying much attention to other people around me (too busy trying to avoid potholes in the pavement, and not bump into people), and instead of turning round and returning the same way, through the crowds, I cut through one block and returned along a street parallel to the seafront. Suddenly I heard my name being called, and turned to see her with her son and sister hurrying along behind me. I had walked past them buying something from a street vendor, and she recognised me.
Big hugs and introductions - it sounded as though her sister knew all about me - and the inevitable invitation to go and have coffee then and there, or for a meal tomorrow at her family home in Trujillo! I was genuinely on my way to a meeting (I do some irregular work with a small charity in Huanchaco), but she gave me her new phone number and extracted a promise that I would call to arrange something! Good Lord! I thought it was guys that had trouble taking a hint! It has been 12 months, and she is acting as though we are best friends and only parted yesterday.
Simple? I have never had a more complicated relationship - or non-relationship as I have been doing everything I can think of not to get involved. As I only have a fortnight left, and she now does live in Trujillo, 10 kms away, and doesn't know where I am staying this year, I am hoping that this will be the end of it - at least until 2016 when I return to Peru again - but I definitely get the feeling I am being stalked!
While in Peru in 2014 I was leaving my apartment one day when I came across a lady standing in the street looking up at the building - she asked me about the apartments as she was looking for somewhere to move to (though she was put off by the rent I quoted I was paying!). When she heard my accent she asked where I was from, and then told me she had an English friend, who, like me, spent 6 months a year in Huanchaco, and we should meet up. Yay, I love matchmakers! We are both English, both single, and therefore must want to hook up. I made some excuses about being busy at the moment and went on my way, thinking that would be the end of it.
Two weeks later there is a knock on my door - she (the Peruvian lady, not her English friend) had tried every apartment looking for me, which wasn't that hard as there were only 4 of them. I invited her in out of courtesy, and she told me her friend was about to return to the UK, but also told me a potted version of her own life history - single mum (I guessed mid-forties), ex-husband in Argentina, where she lived with him for many years, doesn't know anyone here so is lonely (though has family in Trujillo, 10 kms, away as that is where she was originally from), no social life, and so on. I could barely get a word in edgewise, and she spoke very fast, but my understanding of Spanish was up to the task.
She again invited me round to meet her friend, for coffee or a meal, and again I made my excuses - I was just about to embark on my first motorbike trip - but she gave me her business card (she worked in a beauty salon) with phone number and email address, and asked me to get in touch when I got back.
As soon as she left I sent an email trying to explain that I was not looking for a relationship with anyone, hoped I had not misunderstood her intentions, and wishing her well. I hoped that might be the end of it! But a week later she again arrives at my apartment - she is unable to access her emails. so never got my message! Her friend has now left and she is very lonely, and only has her 10 year-old son for company, and never gets a chance to go out. I ask her about her family in Trujillo, and she says she doesn't really get on with them, as they disapproved of her marriage to an Argentinian and move there, so they won't help her, and also she lost touch with all her old friends while out of the country for so long.
I am feeling very uneasy about all this, especially as she keeps saying how important my friendship is - but my command of Spanish is not up explaining this effectively, and I get the impression she is not really listening to what I am saying anyway, and I trying so hard to say that I am not interested. After she goes I even try sending text messages, but next time I see her she says she cannot access text messages on her phone!
She even brings her son round to meet me one afternoon, on the way back from school! Then one evening she comes round in a really bad state, all weepy and saying how things are really tough for her, and has no-one to talk to, and values my friendship and really thinks highly of me - and I have no idea how to respond to this as I do not want to encourage her, but have no idea how to gently explain my feelings, and hoping I am not putting out the wrong signals, as everything I am doing seem to be encouraging her. A couple of days later she comes round in the morning, and after a good deal of beating around the bush asks if she can borrow 50 Soles (around £12), as work is slow and she needs to buy some food for her son. Yeah, I know, alarm bells are now going off, but I agree, hoping that this will change the relationship dynamics.
I start ignoring the door, too, as I can see who is there without being seen, both day and night - cruel, I suppose, but I cannot think of a better way of getting the message across. Things do go quiet for a while - I am doing some more trips on my bike, and don't see her at my door. Then I am on the way, on foot, to the market one morning when I bump into her with another man, who she introduces as her ex visiting from Argentina. She pays me back the 50 Soles, which I never expected to see again, and invites me for coffee with them both as her ex-husband is only visiting to see his son for a few days. Iam genuinely on a tight schedule so make my excuses. Then 2 days later I bump into him on his own, and he again invites me for coffee - I try to explain that I don't think it is a good idea, but I have trouble explaining things like this in English, let alone in a foreign language!
That wasn't long before my time in Peru in 2014 ended, and I didn't see either of them again before I left. 2015 I stayed in a different apartment block and saw no sign of her, so thought she must have finally got the message, and possibly moved away as well because Huanchaco is a very small town. That is until two weeks before I was leaving to return to Brazil. I often walk along the seafront promenade in Huanchaco, as I love the sea and definitely need the exercise, though I do tend to avoid the busiest times (festivals, weekends, and so on). This particular day was a Saturday and I had walked along about half the length of the promenade, which was fairly busy, but as is my wont I wasn't paying much attention to other people around me (too busy trying to avoid potholes in the pavement, and not bump into people), and instead of turning round and returning the same way, through the crowds, I cut through one block and returned along a street parallel to the seafront. Suddenly I heard my name being called, and turned to see her with her son and sister hurrying along behind me. I had walked past them buying something from a street vendor, and she recognised me.
Big hugs and introductions - it sounded as though her sister knew all about me - and the inevitable invitation to go and have coffee then and there, or for a meal tomorrow at her family home in Trujillo! I was genuinely on my way to a meeting (I do some irregular work with a small charity in Huanchaco), but she gave me her new phone number and extracted a promise that I would call to arrange something! Good Lord! I thought it was guys that had trouble taking a hint! It has been 12 months, and she is acting as though we are best friends and only parted yesterday.
Simple? I have never had a more complicated relationship - or non-relationship as I have been doing everything I can think of not to get involved. As I only have a fortnight left, and she now does live in Trujillo, 10 kms away, and doesn't know where I am staying this year, I am hoping that this will be the end of it - at least until 2016 when I return to Peru again - but I definitely get the feeling I am being stalked!
Sunday 17 January 2016
Banking in Brazil as a foreigner
Brazil has been my home for at least 6 months of the year for the past 6 years. I say "my home" as it is the only place I actually own a house, though I do not have permanent residence here.
As a non-resident I an unable to open a bank account here so have to rely on my UK account and cashpoint machines (ATMs). Since the exchange rate at the moment is very favourable it is probably a good thing I don't have a local account holding my meagre savings, but accessing this money can be a challenge. When I first came here the daily (local) withdrawal limit was R$1000, which at the time was around £330, but recently, for some unknown reason the banks have reduced the ATM withdrawal limit - for foreigners - to R$500, which is around £90 at the current exchange rate! One "reason" given is it is to protect tourists from muggings or being taken to an ATM at gunpoint to clear out their account - however it is possible, where there are multiple different banks, to make a withdrawal at each in succession up to the R$500 limit.
In my town we only have one physical bank, which has 6 ATMs, though only 4 actually dispense cash - the others are for deposits, balance enquiries, bill payments (if you have an account there) and other services. One of these is a "priority" or preferencial ATM, for disabled, pregnant, elderly (over 60 here!), and mothers with toddlers.
It is possible to make over the counter withdrawals of amounts up to your own bank's daily limit (though I have never tested this), but getting inside the bank is a challenge. You have to pass through a revolving, metal-detecting, door watched over by an armed security guard - so have to divest yourself of anything metal, including keys, coins, phone, glasses, and so on. These are passed through a perspex "letterbox" in the armoured glass wall, and collected by the security guard (he needs to check there are no weapons in them!), who then gives them to you. You then are faced with a ticket machine - you have to select whether you are a customer or not, then it asks for an ID number??? The guard informed me that I simply have to press "continue" at this stage, and then it asks what service you want, so I select counter (as opposed to talking to an adviser or other employee), and then I select "preferencial"! The previous time I went in there was no queue at the counter, just the person being served, so I declined priority, and then sat as 4 priority customers in a row entered an were attended before me! One had a pile of bills to pay so I ended up waiting 30 minutes! So the next two times I selected priority, however the automatic system (linked to a screen) wasn't working so I had to wait to be called - and both times they served around 10 people before me! I only ever go inside as a last resort now.
I went in the other day to withdraw some cash and only three ATMs were functional, and had long queues, so, although I am entitled to priority treatment, chose the shortest queue (there appeared to be several qualifying customers already in the priority queue anyway). After a 10 minute wait it was my turn, so I inserted my card - and it told me the machine had a problem with my card and I should go to another ATM! As there were still long queues at all the machines, and I wasn't out of cash, I decided to return at a later time.
Today is Sunday so I decide it will be a good time to try again. Still only 3 cash dispensing machines functional, so I choose a different one to the one that caused problems before, and everything seems to be going smoothly - until it comes to dispense my money. "Counting notes" - lots of whirring from inside the machine, and the cash slot opens. More whirring, "counting notes", slot closes - and this carries on for 10 minutes, before I get a message there is a problem with the cash drawer and transaction is cancelled! I take a chance on the priority machine and this time it dispenses my money, though I must admit I was starting to worry what I would do if I couldn't withdraw cash from the only bank in town!
As a non-resident I an unable to open a bank account here so have to rely on my UK account and cashpoint machines (ATMs). Since the exchange rate at the moment is very favourable it is probably a good thing I don't have a local account holding my meagre savings, but accessing this money can be a challenge. When I first came here the daily (local) withdrawal limit was R$1000, which at the time was around £330, but recently, for some unknown reason the banks have reduced the ATM withdrawal limit - for foreigners - to R$500, which is around £90 at the current exchange rate! One "reason" given is it is to protect tourists from muggings or being taken to an ATM at gunpoint to clear out their account - however it is possible, where there are multiple different banks, to make a withdrawal at each in succession up to the R$500 limit.
In my town we only have one physical bank, which has 6 ATMs, though only 4 actually dispense cash - the others are for deposits, balance enquiries, bill payments (if you have an account there) and other services. One of these is a "priority" or preferencial ATM, for disabled, pregnant, elderly (over 60 here!), and mothers with toddlers.
It is possible to make over the counter withdrawals of amounts up to your own bank's daily limit (though I have never tested this), but getting inside the bank is a challenge. You have to pass through a revolving, metal-detecting, door watched over by an armed security guard - so have to divest yourself of anything metal, including keys, coins, phone, glasses, and so on. These are passed through a perspex "letterbox" in the armoured glass wall, and collected by the security guard (he needs to check there are no weapons in them!), who then gives them to you. You then are faced with a ticket machine - you have to select whether you are a customer or not, then it asks for an ID number??? The guard informed me that I simply have to press "continue" at this stage, and then it asks what service you want, so I select counter (as opposed to talking to an adviser or other employee), and then I select "preferencial"! The previous time I went in there was no queue at the counter, just the person being served, so I declined priority, and then sat as 4 priority customers in a row entered an were attended before me! One had a pile of bills to pay so I ended up waiting 30 minutes! So the next two times I selected priority, however the automatic system (linked to a screen) wasn't working so I had to wait to be called - and both times they served around 10 people before me! I only ever go inside as a last resort now.
I went in the other day to withdraw some cash and only three ATMs were functional, and had long queues, so, although I am entitled to priority treatment, chose the shortest queue (there appeared to be several qualifying customers already in the priority queue anyway). After a 10 minute wait it was my turn, so I inserted my card - and it told me the machine had a problem with my card and I should go to another ATM! As there were still long queues at all the machines, and I wasn't out of cash, I decided to return at a later time.
Today is Sunday so I decide it will be a good time to try again. Still only 3 cash dispensing machines functional, so I choose a different one to the one that caused problems before, and everything seems to be going smoothly - until it comes to dispense my money. "Counting notes" - lots of whirring from inside the machine, and the cash slot opens. More whirring, "counting notes", slot closes - and this carries on for 10 minutes, before I get a message there is a problem with the cash drawer and transaction is cancelled! I take a chance on the priority machine and this time it dispenses my money, though I must admit I was starting to worry what I would do if I couldn't withdraw cash from the only bank in town!
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