House hunting in Brazil

When I first decided to come to Brazil as a volunteer for 2 years I had plenty of time to make plans - though in the end I moved to Brazil 8 months before my volunteer visa came through, staying on a "tourist" visa. This visa still allowed a foreigner (Gringo) to buy a house so didn't hold my plans up at all.
I had considered renting, but felt that as it was going to be for 2 years, and I was still hopeful of getting permanent status, I should maybe buy instead. I had been in contact with the charity head and she told me it was easy to buy as a foreigner (she herself had done that when she first moved there) and there was a lot of cheap housing to be found. In fact while searching online I had found an advert for a small house, fairly close to the charity, for sale by an British man, which sounded pretty much what I was looking for. I contacted him asking about it - he was in the UK at the time - and he appeared surprised that his house was for sale! I sent him the link to the advert, and he admitted that a friend was dealing with this for him - but when I showed considerable interest he started prevaricating about the price! He wouldn't give me a straight answer about how much the selling price was, but kept saying that he thought the advertised price was "probably too low"! So I told him to contact me when he had made his mind up about the final price, but that I was prepared to pay in UK pounds, which was better for both of us! He did tell me, however, that a friend in Brazil had the keys, was looking after the house and could show me it when I got there. I did rather lose interest in it at this point!
I did manage to find a small place to rent prior to my arrival, but only for a month as it was booked by someone else for Christmas, which was just over a month after my arrival. When I reached Brazil I contacted the charity head straight away, and we talked about buying a house - and she knew the man selling the house (he was a woodworking artist and had done some work for her), and who was holding the keys! So she called Muzenza, a young Brazilian man, and he came round to meet me. He would help me find a house as he knew all the places for sale, he told me, and we could meet up later for dinner and talk things over.
He arrived at the agreed restaurant with a young lady with him - he was looking after a property, for another British man, which was being converted into holiday accommodation, and she was staying in one of the rooms there. He said that we could start house hunting in the morning, so we just chatted about living in this town, and other generalities. He drank rather a lot during the meal, and afterwards sampled a selection of flavoured Cachaças on offer in their bar (which he paid for !), and before we parted he suggested that on the morrow we go on a trip out of town to see some of the sights in the National Park, rather than house-hunting, and he brings the young lady along as she is a tourist too.
I went back to my bedsit, but an hour later there is a knock on the door - it is Muzenza! He informs me that he realises he is probably too drunk to manage the trip in the morning, but suggests we meet up after lunch, at the place he is looking after, and we can start house-hunting. I arrive a little before time, am let in through the big gates, only to be told that he has not yet got up today! So I go for a wander round the extensive grounds of this property and then sit in the communal area/dining room for around 90 minutes, while waiting, and he still doesn't appear! I leave a message with my number and leave.
He calls later all apologetic - saying he was more drunk that he thought, and had to sleep it off, but would I come around the next morning at 9.00 and we could start looking. Again I was there on time, and again no sign of him! I waited an hour, and then abandoned that idea completely - and since then I have bumped into him a couple of times in town, but other than that we have had no contact!
The following day I went to see the only Real Estate agent in town - the same place I had used to book the bedsit I was now staying in. I explained what I was looking  for (she already knew where I was volunteering) and she grabbed a handful of folders and we set off on foot (I had hired a car but we didn't need it as everything was so close!). We looked at a variety of different properties in and around the centre of town - some needing quite a bit of work (mainly woodworm or termites by the look of it!), but none really suitable as none had any parking space (and the streets nearby too narrow to realistically be an option), none had any outdoor space (yard or garden), and every one had issues with the legal title! 
This is apparently a very common problem in rural Brazil, where "laws" are often ignored or stretched, but I felt that, as a foreigner, I needed to be 100% certain I was buying a property that was going to be "mine"! Many of the issues surrounded inheritance - a landowner had passed away intestate (who in Brazil has a formal will?) so the oldest child sells the property, then one of the other siblings claims it and also sells it - to someone else - and the spouse then does the same, or a brother, or a parent! So we end up with several people buying the same property, none having legal title, and legal disputes that go on for decades! There is a property opposite where I finally bought that has been walled off, by the purchaser who then found out it was under litigation, and 8 years later no further work has been done, and no resolution is in sight!
I did find a nice modern 2 storey property very close to the charity - it was split into two dwellings, with the upper one very spacious, including a mezzanine floor bedroom and great views, and the ground floor suitable for renting out - but the "lane" outside to rocky and rough for parking close by, and the nearest suitable place to park a vehicle at least 100 metres away, and not secure! In addition the "owner" had inherited the property from her aunt who had recently passed away - there was legal title to it BUT she was going through a divorce and her husband was claiming part ownership, so it would not be possible to get legal title transfer until the divorce was finalised or until they cane to some agreement over the property (the wife was adamant the husband had no right to any of it!), which could take years - so I passed on that one, too.
So day one ended with nothing suitable - prices were very good, but I did wonder how much of that was due to the title uncertainties, though I was assured that this wasn't the case, and lack of title shouldn't be a problem! I also didn't get good vibes from any of them - not sure if anyone else has experienced this, but I always get a feeling if a house is going to be a good "home"!
Day two the realtor sent me a little further afield with her assistant, and the first two properties I was shown were part-builds, which means they had walls, but no roof! I explained that I needed somewhere I could move into immediately and live in (I had about 3 weeks left on my bedsit rental before I had to move out for another tenant!), so that meant that three other properties on her list were also no good - one was a bare plot! Thee next was another two storey house - the ground floor was complete and beautifully finished, but the upper floor - which had spectacular views - was only half finished. It would have made a great purchase had I wished to rent out half the building, but I wanted to retain the views, and the top floor was not only unfinished, but also much smaller - and it was the most expensive property I had seen, by a long way!
The final one on her list in this area (she told me there were others to see in other suburbs), was a 4 bed-roomed house on a large plot with a garden. I was reluctant to even look at it as it was far too big for my needs, but the price was very reasonable, and she insisted that I would be impressed, especially as it had full legal title! Inside it was a mess as it had been unoccupied for some time, and there were a couple of pieces of broken furniture abandoned inside - a large insect screen was in tatters, and mail had been shoved through it scattering all over the floor. She ushered me to the kitchen window and the view was spectacular - looking Southwards across the National Park.
I was impressed, but still couldn't get over the fact it was a big 4 bed-roomed house, when all I needed was something smaller - so we headed back to the office. The owner was dealing with someone else, so I was left to think things over - and was mulling over my options (including looking at more properties, but I was led to believe I had already seen the best they had on the books) when I heard someone asking about renting the last property. The assistant replied that it was available at the moment, but that she thought I might be interested in buying it - it took me about two minutes to decide to make an offer!!
As I was a cash buyer this helped to speed up the process - though I did have to arrange a 50% deposit through my UK bank to the vendor who lived in Sao Paulo - and the realtor dealt with the initial paperwork. The vendor's daughter lived locally and she was given power of attorney to sign on her father's behalf, so we both went first to the local council for a document stating that all taxes were paid, then to the Forum, which is where all legal matters are dealt with. She had to sign a couple of documents, and I had to countersign, and sign others - then it was a case of waiting 15 days, which I took to being a fortnight, but was 15 "working days" so three weeks! This would take us into Christmas and past the date I had to vacate the bedsit. I was worried about how I could furnish the place as there was nowhere in my town that sold furnishings, so I would have to buy elsewhere and get it delivered, but I managed to get permission to have it delivered directly to the house before the paperwork was finalised, and in fact also got permission to move in once my bedsit rental finished, but a few days before the paperwork would be completed, which was a great help.
I had seen the original title deeds before completing the sale so knew it was all in order, but had been advised that one piece of documentation was missing! The deeds showed the property dimensions and correct ownership rights, there was also a copy of the architects plans with municipal approval, BUT once built the house had never been registered on the property. No-one could give me a definitive answer as to how relevant this was, but to me all that really mattered was that the property would legally be mine, so what was placed on it was secondary to that important legal status. A couple of evenings after I moved in, and before the paperwork was finalised, there was a knock on the door - it was two men from the local council who had come to verify that the house was actually the same as had been approved from the architect's drawings, and after looking around and taking a few measurements they left - and I was given confirmation that the house was now correctly registered, organised by the vendor's daughter. So now I could sleep easily knowing that my legal title would be full and completely correct!
Finally a month after moving in I received the "escritura", which is the title deeds proving I am the legal owner of the house. The process had been relatively easy, especially since Brazil is renowned for the complicated nature of the bureaucracy, but I was relieved that everything was now OK, and I shouldn't have any future problems concerning my ownership.

The view from the kitchen that sold the house!

With friends like these who needs enemies?

I had mentioned in an earlier comment (to a post called "Crossing the line") that while I was in Peru the young friend looking after my house had contacted me saying he had caused some damage and taken some of my things, though I was unaware as to the extent as he was not very forthcoming about that, so I had to wait until my return, fearing the worst, to find out what exactly had happened.
Like many young men in Brazil he was a regular pot smoker, but about three years ago helped at an annual "trance" music festival, and admitted to me eventually that he tried some "harder" drugs there. It changed him. Even his girlfriend came to see me with concerns about his well-being, and although he wasn't addicted, he did start seeking out other drugs, though pot was about all he could afford occasionally. His mother also came to see me and I gave her some money to have him admitted to a clinic some 200 miles away, which he walked out of after 24 hours claiming to be fine, but his mother did manage to get him on some medication which seemed to be working - if he took it! He had become paranoid, under the belief that everyone hated him, and was out to get him, and was unable to find work which also didn't help. He was living at home (at 24 years of age) as he couldn't afford anything else, and this was stressing him out further, as "home" was a 2 bedroomed house with his parents, and three siblings, one mentally handicapped under medication as well.
As he appeared to be under control, confirmed by his mother who I know well, I decided it would be OK to let him look after my house while I was away - a situation that, I felt, would be mutually beneficial - I had a friend looking after my house, and he had somewhere to stay, expense free as I left money for all the utility bills, for 6 months. This would be the fourth time we had done this, and the previous three occasions it had been fairly successful - apart from a few minor breakages (glasses, plates, etc.) and losing the keys once (so I had to replace all the external door locks, three of them and three padlocks on security gates!).
My motorbike remains indoors while I am away (I keep both sets of keys with me!) , and I have a spare bedroom I use as a "junk" room, which I keep locked (normal door lock, and two padlocks) with personal things in when I travel, so was alarmed when he contacted me (as did his elder sister, who I didn't know) to say he had a breakdown, and had been curious about that room so broke in! He had rummaged around my things and found some foreign currency (Pounds, Dollars and Euros) that I keep for travelling, and had taken those to buy a mobile phone. He also said the front door was broken, but his sister said the family broke that as he had fallen asleep with a pan on the stove, and they had to get to him. Apart from them assuring me the house was secure, though he did tell me he had lost my house keys again, and that they would reimburse me, that was all I could find out while still in Peru!
I let him know my expected arrival time and got home to find the house locked up and as I didn't have a key for the flimsy padlock, and new lock they had installed, I had to make my entry round the back of the house as I still had my keys. While I was unpacking my car he showed up, and I learned a little more about what had happened, though I still don't think I have been told anything near to the truth!

This is what the outside of the front door looked like.

He told me he had lost the keys only 2 weeks prior to my return - his story being that he found an unlocked car in town and decided to sit in it "to see what it felt like to own a car", put the keys and his phone in the glove box, but forgot them when he got out of the car, and it had disappeared when he went back for them. However the front door had been damaged 5 months earlier, when his family had to break in due to the unattended pan - he apparently wasn't in the house at the time - so I realised that the keys had been lost way back then, and that breaking in was the only mode of access, meaning big lie! This morning a young man doing some garden clearance next door came across - my keys (and a phone) in the weeds, so the story about leaving them in a car was also ... big lie!

Damaged saucepan - supposed to have a double base, but totally destroyed.

Storeroom door

When I started looking round my house I found more evidence of "missing" or damaged items - first the empty box for a Casio wristwatch, "oh, I sold that, too", another irreparably damaged VW logo wristwatch, "I borrowed that and wore it, got into a fight and it got damaged", the damaged aluminium case of a knife set ...

This hadn't even been locked, but he forced it open!

... a broken figurine of an African Grey Parrot (which had been my mother's and one of the few things of hers I kept for sentimental reasons), also dotted around my house were things (ornaments and such) that I didn't recognise - till I realise they had been taken from stored boxes I was keeping for a friend! He had also brought from the storeroom a lot of my things, which I had secured in there - including some groceries I had put away for safekeeping as they would still be "in date" upon my return, some of which he had used - and I realised my stock of booze was also gone, which had included an almost full litre bottle of Single Malt Whiskey (that had cost me almost £50).

I asked if he had taken anything else and he admitted to a shirt and some shorts, "I didn't have anything to wear" - the shirt turned out to be a Lacoste Polo shirt, the only item of "designer" clothing I owned. Since I have been back it has become obvious that he also wore a lot of my t-shirts, too, since they were all clean, but folded completely differently to how I do it (I am a creature of habit!), apart from one, a dark blue t-shirt, that was covered in fluff from washing, probably with a paper tissue in the machine, which I would never have put away like that.

I changed the sheets on my bed, and found it had been made with three sheets, two fitted ones (one correctly on the bottom, and one on top over everything!) and a flat sheet - and the 6 pillows on various beds had 9 pillowcases on them (plus liners I bought in the UK).

I contacted him a couple of days later to ask about some tools that were missing, and he admitted to "borrowing" those, and returned them, though denied all knowledge of a couple of other items - including a "Rolex" watch (bought in Tunisia years ago while on holiday with my daughter to get rid of a very pushy salesman in a shop there), which to the untrained eye looked pretty original (terrible timekeeper though, which I found out on the only time I ever tried wearing it for a joke!), though when I told him that a new Rolex would cost in excess of US$5000 he almost passed out, and then admitted he might have taken that too, and sold it (I got the impression he got next to nothing for it, and didn't tell him it was a "fake", whoever bought it here wouldn't have been aware either - we do not have sophisticated "fences" here).

I had left more than enough money for all the utility bills and my Council Tax, while I was away - but he apparently blew that within days of me going, probably on drugs! His mother said she paid the bills, but when I got back I found that there were three months of electricity bills outstanding (March-May!),and one of water, and that the water had, in fact, been disconnected for two months back in May, for non-payment. The Council Tax was also unpaid, so I had to settle all those.

His mother and sister both say he has mental problems (caused by drug abuse?), and so is not really responsible for his actions! His mother insists they will reimburse me for the losses and damages, though I know this won't happen as they cannot afford it. He is on medication now, which apparently is controlling his condition, and he does appear pretty normal at the moment. I just feel so betrayed by him - I have known him for 8 years and considered him a friend, despite the age difference. I was his go-to guy when he needed anything - borrow tools, borrow money (though I never got paid back!), needed a lift somewhere, needed internet access (on my WiFi!) - and the only thing I ever asked from him was that he took care of my house, which in exchange he got to stay for free (only had to feed himself) and had the run of the place, apart from my locked storeroom!

I am not sure if I can ever forgive him, or trust him again, especially since he shows little sign of remorse for his actions - and has continued to lie about exactly what happened while I was away.

Spit or Swallow?

OK, get your minds out of the gutter - or actually that is where they should be - but this is not an X-rated post but rather about the habit of expectoration, or spitting in public.
Having lived for well over 20 years in Africa and South America, where spitting is almost a way of life, you would think that I am immune to it, and accept it as normal, but I still feel it is a disgusting habit. I recall vividly the first time I saw someone spit in the street in the UK (which shows how much of an impression it made on me!) which was in 1963 while visiting the city of Wells - we were heading for the cathedral when a man approaching hawked and spat in the street. I was dumbfounded! Although we had just returned from 3 years in Angola where it was prevalent, this was the first time I had seen it in England - and was shocked to the core. In hindsight I realise now that the 60's was a time of mass immigration into the UK (and also the start of cheap overseas holidays to Europe where British tourists would be exposed to these unsavoury practices), and this was possibly the reason it started becoming commonplace.
My grandfather was asthmatic, having been gassed in World War 1, and  spent a lot of his life afterwards bed-ridden, and used to cough up copious amounts of phlegm, which he used to spit into lidded glass jars for later disposal down the (outside) toilet, so I guess from an early age I saw spitting as a necessary activity, but one that should include safe disposal of the "spit". I must add now that I have never been a spitter, I have never felt the need to dispose of excess phlegm that way, but have always been a swallower - after all it is a product that originated in my upper respiratory tract so therefore cannot be dangerous to me, and getting rid of it by swallowing means it enters my digestive tract for "disposal"! I have always carried a handkerchief (a throwback to my British upbringing!) and could use that to capture anything I might be reluctant to swallow!
When I first moved to Brazil I spent 2 years volunteering at a small local children's charity, with most of the children between 5 and 11 years of age, and I was horrified to see several of them spitting on the floor INSIDE the building! We quickly initiated a no-spitting rule, and offenders would be ejected for 24 hours, but it took a while to stamp it out. We told them if they really felt the need to spit to use the toilet, but some would spit out of the window! One persistent offender was a 9 year-old girl, who was a handful anyway, and I asked her why she was always spitting - her reply was that she had a "bad taste" in her mouth, and was hawking up phlegm to clean her mouth and then needed to spit it out. I asked why she didn't swallow it (or have a drink of water!), as I would, and she said that was disgusting!
We tried explaining that spitting was extremely hazardous to health, and spread diseases such as Tuberculosis, Influenza, Meningitis, and even the common cold, but this fell on deaf ears - spitting was so endemic that nothing we said could change their minds that it was the only way to dispose of phlegm. Spitting in public has been banned in many places around the world - the UK has made it an offence to spit in public since 2013 (in London you risk an £80 fine), but there have been relatively few prosecutions - however this has done little to control the practice. 
I will continue to be a swallower, and tut whenever I see a spitter!

A man goes to the doctor with a headache

A young man goes to see his doctor about his headache -
"Doctor, I have had this terrible headache for months - it is driving me crazy as I just cannot get any relief!"
Doctor: "Where exactly is the pain?"
Man: "Across my forehead, and then down the left side of my face"
Doctor: "And you have tried different remedies for it already?"
Man: "I have tried everything they sell in the local chemist, and nothing gets close to relieving the pain.
I went to a Chinese herbalist, and tried everything he had there, and nothing worked either.
I have tried acupuncture, and that didn't help.
I am at my wits end, doctor, please help me!"
Doctor: "I think we will send you to a specialist for some tests, to rule out some ailments, but in the meantime I will also prescribe you some stronger painkillers. Come back and see me in two weeks."

Two weeks later -
Man: "Doctor, if anything the pain is worse! All across my forehead, and down the left side of my face!"
Doctor: "Did you see the specialist?"
Man: "Yes! He prodded and poked me all over, took blood tests, gave me an MRI scan, and a CT scan, took X-rays and cannot find anything wrong!"
Doctor: "I did some research online and came across a similar case - severe headache across the forehead and down the left hand side of the face. They managed to cure that."
Man: "Tell me how, doctor, I cannot go on like this!"
Doctor: "Well, they discovered that the problem actually originated in the testicles - the man was producing too many hormones and these were the cause of the headaches - but castration solved the problem,"
Man: "Castration? You mean cutting his balls off? I am a young man, I want to have children eventually, I cannot go through with that!"
Doctor: "Then I am afraid there is nothing I can do for you"

Two days later -
Man: "Doctor, I have thought it over, the pain is so severe I have to get some relief so I will have the operation if you are sure it will cure me"
Doctor: "Well, it worked for that other young man, so I am sure it will for you too - I can actually do the procedure here now, if you like"

So the doctor administers anaesthetic and performs the castration, and when the young man comes round lo and behold the headache has gone!
Man: "Doctor, it is a miracle, the headache has gone - for the first time in years! Thank you so much!"

A week later he goes back to the doctor -
Man: "Doctor the headache has gone and I am so grateful, but I am suffering depression as I no longer feel that I am a man!"
Doctor: "Of course you are - just because you are missing some bits doesn't make any difference to who you are, but I can understand your concerns. Why not go away for a holiday, have some fun and you will see that you haven't changed? How about a city break in London?"

So the man heads for London, sees all the sights and starts to feel better, but decides to get a new tailor-made suit in Saville Row.
He chooses the material, and the style he would like and then the tailor starts taking measurements - when he gets to the inside leg measurement he asks:
"Which side do you dress, sir?"
Man: "Dress? What do you mean?"
Tailor: "I mean when you put trousers on which side do you place your ... er, genitalia. You see, sir, we tailor the trousers to accommodate you - most trousers you buy "ready-made" meet in a Y at the crotch, and this puts pressure on your genitals, which can give you a really bad headache all across the forehead and down the left side of your face!"

Peru 2017

What started as an unremarkable journey back to Peru - following the dramas over my septic tank back in Brazil - has become a bit of a nightmare!
My journey necessitated a 7 hour overnight layover at Lima airport (not the first time I have had to do this, and never a pleasant thing to do), and I was expecting this to be the low point of my trip - however I was unprepared for what transpired! Immigration is always a little daunting, especially as I was seeking the maximum "visa" allowance on arrival, but the officer was cordial and allowed me the 180 days I requested. It isn't a big deal if they permit less time on arrival, as it is a fairly easy process to border hop to Ecuador and return with a further 90 days, but I prefer to be organised so look for the full allowance in one go.
Leaving immigration I headed for baggage reclaim ... and here the fun started! As I entered the baggage hall I noticed a "priority" porter pushing a lady's trolley towards customs some way ahead, and she had a similar suitcase to mine with other luggage on the trolley, but didn't think too much about it at that stage. I collected my own trolley and waited by the carousel, where among other luggage, a large red hard-sided case was circulating, though not the same as mine at all - the only similarity being colour and hard ABS plastic. As luggage came and went, and this case remained I started getting a little concerned, and when I saw a baggage handler removing it from the carousel after everything else had gone I asked him if there was any more to come. I couldn't help noticing, at this stage, that the red case (an Antler, whereas mine was a Carlton) had a "priority" label on it! He directed me to the airline luggage desk.
There was some consternation, and they asked me several times if I was sure that the other case wasn't mine - before they acknowledged that the other lady had probably taken mine in error! A check on their system revealed she was from Lima, but they had no contact number so would have to wait for her to come back for her case - it now being close to midnight, Thursday, that would not be happening till the morning when I would be on my way to Trujillo!
I had a change of clothing in my hand luggage, but little else - toiletries, a GoPro camera, as well as a camcorder and all my clothes were in that one suitcase! They gave me US$50 as an "emergency" fund, and I used most of that buying some toiletries at inflated airport prices, took all my details and said they would keep in contact.
Still no sign of my case by the time my flight to Trujillo left in the morning, so I had no choice but to leave Lima behind and hope that my case would soon follow. Arriving in Trujillo for a 6 month stay armed with one spare pair of underwear, a pair of shorts and a spare t-shirt is not funny! Replacing things at this stage is not really an option - 1). lack of money to do so, and 2). having unnecessary duplicates if my case turned up - however I needed to buy a few things just to tide me over.
On Saturday, after a trip into Trujillo to stock up my apartment, and buy a couple of clothing items I called the airline number they had given me - finally getting through to an English-speaking representative - my Spanish is pretty good, but I didn't want to get things wrong here. He said that as far as he knew the lady had not yet returned for her case, so there was nothing much they could do - though I did ask him if they would be treating it as theft if she didn't and contacting the Police? He never responded to that, but checked my contact details, which they had copied down wrong, and said they would be in touch.
I have had a couple of emails so far - with a link to an online form to submit my inventory- but nothing of any significance, and here I am 12 days after landing in Lima still without my belongings! What also concerns me is that I read that many airlines do not offer "new for old" but allow some depreciation due to age, and since things like electronics are more expensive anyway (for example my GoPro cost US$400 in 2014, but they are US$500 new here now!), and my clothing was all of the "activewear" style, so dry fast, offer UV protection, and are hardwearing - clothing like that fetches a huge premium here if you can find it!
Will update as this progresses.

Update: I finally received a phone call from the agent who had been emailing me. We were approaching 15 days since I landed and I had a choice to make - I could stop the "search" and they would make me an offer, or I could wait a further 10 days. I asked him what had been done so far to "look" for my case, as it was pretty obvious that another passenger had taken mine in error, and he said he would contact Lima airport directly and see what they said. I also told him that I had no choice but to cancel the search and look for a settlement as I was still without any clothes. He told me he would check the status at Lima airport and get back to me.
That call took place on Saturday morning. 2 hours later I received a call from a lady speaking Spanish - she said she was from Trujillo (local) airport and needed my password ("senha"). I asked what password, and she hung up on me! 9 pm I get another call from Trujillo airport, this time telling me that my suitcase has arrived in Trujillo!! They ask if I am at home, as they want to deliver it straight away! I was so elated of course I agreed, and as the airport is only 5 minutes away I went out onto my balcony and waited ... An hour later I was beginning to think I might have been the victim of some sort of hoax, and was about to call the number back when my phone rang again  this time it was the delivery driver, wanting to confirm the address - and 10 minutes later I had my suitcase back! Intact, unopened, undamaged and with all my belongings in it!
It did get me thinking, though, as to how long Lima airport might have been holding onto my case! The agent had only said that morning that he had no news but was going to contact the airport to see if anything was happening, and less than 12 hours later I get my suitcase back! Whatever the reason I am so relieved to have my belongings back, and not to have to try and replace everything!

Installing a Septic Tank

With under three weeks until I leave Brazil for another 6 months my neighbour dropped a bombshell on me! I have been here over 5 months, but he only tells me this now. My sewage pipes run under his property (they have been there since his father built the house, which I bought from him over 7 years ago) and he is planning to built there so I need to relocate them. Unfortunately there is no way I can re-connect to the main sewage pipe (though this is an untreated system) without crossing his property, so my only option is to build a septic tank somewhere on my land. I am more than a little annoyed as over 2 years ago a worker clearing his garden fractured my pipe, and we discussed it at the time and he assured me it was fine to leave the pipe in place as he would never build where it was located, so I paid for it to be repaired!
After 5 days trying to find someone who would construct a septic tank for me (in under 2 weeks!) yesterday evening I finally succeeded! I had to leap out in front of a motorbike ridden by the man who was supposed to come and see me about it at lunchtime the previous day to achieve this - he brought another man round later who will do the job for me. 
He kept saying "o senhor sabe o que queres" - "you know what you want", but I kept saying "no, I don't , that why I need you to tell me what I need", and eventually he told me what I needed (the guy who brought him works for the Water Company so between them they worked it out!), and quoted a price ... to dig the hole! I told him I needed a quote for the complete job, explaining also about the time constraint, and I wanted a completed tank, connected up to my house waste pipes. More discussion between them and a revised price, but this excludes any materials - something I find strange is that when you employ any workman here he just charges you for his labour and expertise (well, you assume he has some of the latter!), but everything else you have to order and pay for separately, when I would have thought that he could work a deal with the Builders' Merchant so he collects the discount as well! I know that they will always quote "Gringo" prices, but if I am happy with the quote I never haggle as it is always a fraction of what you would pay "back home" and a lot of the time is probably too low as Maths is not a strong point here - by agreeing to their original price it is unlikely they will come back and try and renegotiate later (and I had a witness this time too!), and generates some goodwill too. We shook on it and he agreed to come back this morning.
8.30 he appears with a "mate", who is a builder, but no tools, and say they are going to measure up and mark it out and start the following day. I say I will need a list of materials so I can make sure they are delivered in good time and they start by saying I need "half a load" of sand (wonder if that will be collected from our river?) and another "half load" of "xarem" (not sure of the spelling, and have no idea what it might be!) - apparently I won't need that much but they only deliver a "half load", or a "full load"! I ask them if they will order that and I will pay for it on arrival, as I have no idea who to order from anyway! We will need some plastic pipes later, but for now they ask me to order 300 bricks and 3 bags of cement, which I do after they leave.
I show them where I think will be a good place for the tank, but explain that I will rely on their expertise in the matter if this location is unsuitable (I want my kitchen waste to also be connected to this so this does limit the location options too as my property is on a steep slope), but they say I have chosen well. First thing they ask if I have something they can clear the area with, like a mattock, so I fetch that, then they ask if I have a machete, so they can cut a measuring stick, and finally ask for some rope so they can measure a circle. The irony of 2 workmen arriving and having to ask for tools is not lost on me! The builder "mate" finally marks out a circle, and they tell me the original guy will be back tomorrow to start, and he assures me it will all be finished by Sunday, which is 4 days away (though I am taking that with a huge pinch of salt!).
Will update this as it progresses.

The Eternal Optimist

Despite having lived in Brazil for the past 7 years I still maintain the very British hope that tradesmen will turn up on time! Yes, I know I shouldn't be so naive after all this time, but I still have ingrained in me the very British notion that you turn up when you say you will. Similarly I still expect a good standard of workmanship - despite being disappointed time after time - one has to live in hope or else wallow in despair!
As I write this I am waiting for a man to come and talk to me about putting a septic tank on my property. A neighbour, who he did the same for, called him up yesterday and he agreed to come to my house, which he knew as he originally installed my sewage system some years ago (before I bought the house), at "mid-day". Now, in a land where very, very few people wear watches, mid-day could just mean "in the afternoon", but my neighbour assured me it would be noon.
There is an added element here in that I leave Brazil in little over 2 weeks, so need to get this work completed before I head to Peru.
You have to look out for them to arrive as unlike many countries where they will come and knock on your door (or ring the doorbell) here (and in Peru, for that matter!) they will stand at the gate and clap, whistle, or possibly call out. Just before 2 pm I heard my name being called, but it was the neighbour who had made the arrangements saying the man could not come that day, but would come Sunday "morning". It is currently 11.30 am and I am still waiting, jumping up at every noise in the street outside!

It got me thinking about my other experiences with workmen here in Brazil, and how in fact almost every one was, in some way, unsatisfactory.
1. When I first bought my house I needed to have some work done - particularly exterior painting, a new front door (the existing one was actually an interior door and was in a very poor state), new access (as the existing one was across a neighbouring property), both pedestrian (which also involved having steps built up to the road) and vehicular, and having some canopies built over several windows that were allowing rain ingress. There is no such thing as Yellow Pages here locally but there were some builders across the road constructing a large wall round a vacant lot there so I spoke to them and they agreed to do my work "part-time", which meant weekends and after they finished each day for an hour or so. I ordered all the materials they said I would need and once it all arrived they got started. I had offered the main builder (they were a team of 4) an "entrada", or deposit, but he said that wouldn't be necessary as they were being paid for the other job so it would be nice to get the money at the end (here you just pay the tradesman for his labour, all other expenses like materials you pay separately).
They started mid-week and the first few days it was fine - until Friday afternoon, when Juvenal asked if I could pay him a little in advance as he needed to buy a big bag of dog-food. I duly obliged - I had after all offered a deposit originally - and he said they would be back on Saturday and would work both then and Sunday. I didn't see them until Monday afternoon (they didn't even work across the road on Monday - it is Market Day here and often is considered a "day off"!) when I was given no explanation, other than one of his "mates" implying he had been too drunk to work! This was the pattern throughout the work, but as progress was being made, and I was in no particular hurry, and was told it was the norm here!
Part of the work required him to sub-contract a carpenter, namely the front door and the canopy supports - and the first day he was here the carpenter took me to the local hardware store to get the hardwood door. He measured them up, looked carefully at all they had to make sure they were "true", and selected one, which I paid for. This was the first example of unsatisfactory! Within 6 months the door started warping - but it was the hinge stile that was warping, pulling the hinge outwards, not the flat plane of the door warping! It means I have to occasionally sand down the opposite side, the lock stile, so it doesn't jam!
About a month after the work was completed one of the canopies also fell off (also done by the same carpenter!), ripping the timber supports out of the wall. When I contacted the builder about repairing it (at my cost, of course) he immediately knew which one had fallen off, as he had queried the fact that the supports were too short! Since he was supervising the work I asked why he didn't say anything at the time, and he just shrugged and said it was the carpenter's responsibility! He also said the man was a little crazy and needed hospitalisation!

2. There must be a thing here with carpenters as I had another strange experience with them. The local radio station was running adverts from 2 new carpenters who had started up a joinery (furniture making) business, so I went along to see them. I particularly wanted a new sink unit for my kitchen, but also some storage shelves for my "spare" (junk") room, and some dis-mountable bunk beds, which could be used as 2 single beds. I carefully drew up scale plans and talked through them with one of the carpenters, and he agreed they would be easy to make using local hardwood, which he assured me was sustainably sourced!
I had asked for 2 one metre shelves, but when I went to collect it they had made 1 two metre shelf! Not a big deal, I suppose, and it fit where I wanted it so no real problem.
The sink unit had to fit into the space the old one was in so when I gave them the drawings had explained that the rear left leg had to be half a centimetre shorter for it to stand level and flush. When I collected (it comes in pieces as they don't have transport so you collect it yourself and re-assemble at home) I asked if they had marked the "short" leg, but he said he didn't know which it would be so had cut the all the same!! The unit is symmetrical - open shelves - so front and back are the same, so all it needed was one leg being cut shorter - something I couldn't do as it is very tough hardwood, so eventually had to have the backing tiles cut so it would fit under them!
The bunk beds!! I wanted standard single bed size, which in Brazil is 88cms (24.5 ins), and my plans clearly showed this. Again the beds were in pieces when I collected them so I put them together at home, and then measured them before going to buy mattresses (in the only shop here that sells them!). I couldn't help noticing that instead of 88cms, the bed was only 84cms across, so asked at the shop if they had 84cm mattresses - he looked at me strangely and said they did 78 and 88 only (78 being child size, common in bunk beds!). As it happened one of the carpenters was in the shop (I hadn't actually seen him before as all my dealings were with the other one),and he said that he had been unsure about my measurements so had come to the shop before they built them and measured up a bunk bed (child sized!) in the shop, but then added a little to that measurement! So my beds are 4cms, or around one and a half inches narrower than the mattresses I bought!

3. The old tiles on my kitchen floor were breaking up and though tiling is something I can easily do, and have done in my guest bedroom, I needed this doing fast as it was the kitchen. So I called my builder and asked if he could do it quickly, and he said it would take 2 days! I stripped the kitchen area, removing everything including the sink (we don't have fitted kitchens so all the units had been free-standing), leaving him an empty space to work in. It didn't take him long to remove the old tiles and start marking out for the new ones I had bought, along with a couple of packets of tile spacers, which he said he didn't need! By the end of the day about half the floor was tiled, though the lines were a little suspect, and he had used a tile saw to cut the adjoining tiles (it is open plan) where the lines got too close together!
The second day he completed the tiling by lunchtime, but said he would return the following day to do the grouting as he needed to go to the hospital now as he had the flu! I didn't see or hear from him for the next 2 days so decided I had to finish the grouting myself, and saw then how badly the tiling had been done! The lines weren't straight, the gaps were all shapes and sizes, and there was even a chipped tile! The grouting didn't take that long and I soon had the kitchen back into a functioning state.
A week later there is a knock at the door - it is his son (who was on the original team with hi when they did the first lot of work), saying that Dad had sent him to finish the job! According to his son he had damaged his back, and had been in hospital, which was why he couldn't come back, and looked surprised when I asked him about the (non-existent!) flu! I told him I had finished the work, though was not happy, but wanted to speak with his father and needed to pay him as well. He did appear 2 days later, shrugged at my complaints about the standard of workmanship, collected his tools - and payment - and left!

(Still no sign of the tradesman I am waiting for, over an hour later!)

A lucky escape

In 1960 we moved to Luanda, Angola, and I had my 7th birthday not long after we arrived there, my sister being just under 2 years older than me, so was 9 that April. We first lived in a house on the outskirts of Luanda, but due to security worries we moved to a more central location a block back from the sand cliffs called Barrocas. 
One day while we were playing in the garden a man in uniform appeared at the gate and asked if he could speak to our mother. Mum came out and he explained that he was in the Portuguese airforce and stationed in Luanda, and he was walking past and heard us speaking English, and wondered if my mother would allow him to spend some time with the family to practice his English, and also as he missed his own family back in Portugal. He was around 30, I guess, and very well spoken, and showed Mum his airforce ID, so she invited him in for a coffee and a chat.
He used to come round once a week or so and we would go for a walk with him round our neighbourhood, usually ending up at the open-air Miramar, cliff-top cinema where he would buy us a Coke. He even took us back to his barracks in the centre of Luanda, and showed us around, promising to take us to see the actual airforce planes one day. It all seemed so innocent back then - he was always polite, always in uniform, always insisted on talking to Mum before we went out with him, and always let her know where we would be going.
One day, however, after we had known him for about a year, he came round and my sister wasn't able to join us - I cannot remember if she was unwell, or staying with friends - so I went with him alone for a walk, an 8 year old with a 30 year old unrelated man! We headed towards the Barrocas, the sandy cliffs, and he took me a little way along a path into the bushes where we had a great view across the bay. He told me he loved to come here for some peace and quiet and to admire the view, but that he also used to bring his "girlfriends" to this spot as it was secluded. He asked me if I knew what he meant by that, and though I was so young I had a very good idea what he was talking about (I had a friend the same age as me who was rather precocious and he had told me a lot of things I probably shouldn't have known about at that age back then, and though I didn't fully understand a lot of it I was aware of what males and females got up to - though not really sure why!). He then went on to tell me that he hoped to bring my sister there one day - who was now 10 years old! He then said he needed to urinate, and while doing it said how hot he was "down there" and how this talk had excited him a little. Nothing further happened (honestly!) and we went home.
Despite my youth and inexperience I knew that I had just witnessed something that was very wrong, so told my parents about it when I got home, who immediately cut off all contact with him. I am not sure if they contacted the airforce, but he never came round again. Looking back I am surprised I had the sense and courage to tell my parents, as I was an extremely shy child, but just knew that it was the right thing to do, and that it probably averted something very serious.
In hindsight It was very foolish to allow a relative "stranger" such access to 2 young children, but back then times were very different and we were not so aware of the dangers of predatory adults, plus he had not shown any indication of other than honourable intentions until that day. I still regard that as a very lucky escape.

Bakery tales - Part 3

7. Production planning.

Bread baking is not simply mixing a dough, forming it into loaves and baking it off, at least not in a working bakery! Oven capacity, availability of bread tins, differing baking times (rolls need around 25 minutes, tinned bread 35-40) and oven temperatures, and so on all come into the equation.
I used to arrive 15-20 minutes early each shift and go over the production list and work out how we would achieve it most efficiently - the first few doughs were always pretty standard, though the batch size might need increasing or decreasing, but after those it was a balancing act as we needed to recycle trays and tins - sandwich loaf tins and french stick trays especially. So the first mix was always wholemeal and used a lot of sandwich loaf tins, followed by the first French Stick mix. We had sufficient of each for two batches of each at once, but of course the oven could only take one of each so this had to be taken into consideration. French sticks proved faster than sandwich loaves (and baked quicker) so even if made at the same time - Chris did the sticks while I did the sandwich loaves - they would follow each other into the oven. The stick trays were perforated so cooled very quickly too, while the tins needed a little longer before we could put the next batch into them - so throughout the night we alternated doughs so the tins, trays and ovens were always ready and used most effectively. Even so on some nights we were waiting on the sandwich tins for the final dough when numbers were particularly high - for some reason, and despite us asking, the day bakers never made any sandwich loaves so these were always the bulk of the white bread overnight production!
Chris and I had this down to a fine art - we worked at opposite sides of the bakery and I made the doughs and all the tinned bread, as well as some of the French stick production (the stick moulding machine was also near my work station) while Chris handled all the roll production and the speciality bread (we used to make a little Soda Bread, Rye Bread and Cholla Bread) - we rarely had any "spare" time, but since we didn't get paid any overtime we obviously wanted to finish as quickly as possible, while maintaining standards. Our oven guy used to cope brilliantly with everything we threw at him, despite his young years, but would occasionally ask us to slow down a bit, or give him a hand, if the ovens were backing up.
Chris' girlfriend was expecting their first child, and when she went into labour Chris had arranged to take a couple of days off (as there were complications) so the mid-shift baker, Steve, (who only worked a couple of days towards the end of the week - the one who suffered from Psoriasis) came in to cover for him. Unfortunately the second day of this I was taken ill with food poisoning, so had to stay away - and I only found out the following day that Steve's condition also flared up preventing him from working, so Jimmy and Karl had to go in to cover the production.
The next night both Chris and I were back in, and Mark (our packer) and the oven guy (whose name totally escapes me - but it may also have been Mark, or even Mike!!) told us that the previous night had been a fiasco! Karl and Jimmy had looked at the production list and decided the best thing to do was run through each type of bread in order - so they started with 5 batches of roll dough, followed by 4 batches of French Stick dough - and halfway through the sticks - 2 batches complete and in the prover, one divided and resting in trays, and the fourth batch already mixing - realised there weren't enough stick trays (which were specially curved for sticks) to continue! The next dough they put on was the Harvestgrain, which used half the sandwich tins, followed by the first Wholemeal mix, which used the other half - then they put on the second wholemeal, which was all sandwich loaves - and realised that the tins hadn't even gone in the oven yet from the first batch! No problem, on with the first of the white doughs, which was ordinary tinned bread, and some tray loaves (Bloomers), as was the second white dough, followed by the remaining French sticks - leaving .... 4 batches of white sandwich loaves! They still had a Wholegrain sandwich batch to do as well - and since from start to finish a "sandwich" batch took over 2 hours, even allowing for the fact we had 2 sets of tins there was still more than 6 hours of production to do ... and they had already been working for well over 6 hours!
Apparently they spent most of the rest of the (extended) shift standing around in the bakery smoking, waiting for the sandwich tins to come back from the oven, and then placing the next dough in an extremely hot sandwich tin straight out of the oven, and then waiting for the tins to come back again! Mark, the packer, says he was giving them a hard time muttering about lack of bread to pack, "which was never like that normally"! I am not sure if they ever fully realised what a mess they had made, or whether it made them appreciate what "proper" bakers could do in a night shift!

8. Suspended for not working on your day off!

I applied for an assistant foreman job at a large bakery in the South of England. The interview they requested that the spouse attended as accommodation was offered as part of the package, which was over one of their many shops - all senior staff were provided with rent-free accommodation (more of that later!). We were shown a 3 bed-roomed flat which was quite nice, and the area appeared reasonable even though the shop was in a precinct.
Following the initial interview I was invited back for a week-long trial at their factory. I had to take time off from my current job, and drove down - they had arranged Bed and Breakfast accommodation for me for the week (at their expense). I arrived early for my first shift (which was overnight) and the Production Manager explained to me, in the presence of the Foreman, that no-one, except the Foreman, knew the real reason for my trial - just that I was there for the week and would be trying out various jobs.
The first night I met several of the workers, who all eyed me with a little suspicion, but I spent the night working with the Foreman, who explained a lot about the business and the way it worked. He also told me something about many of the other bakers, including one, Steve, who used to be the Foreman, but had stepped down due to the pressures of the job, and was now simply a baker, albeit a senior one. At one stage I worked with him for a while and found him to be a very pleasant man, though he admitted he knew I was there being assessed for the assistant foreman role! He asked if I was taking staff housing and warned me that once I was in free housing they would expect a lot more commitment from me. He was still in free housing and said that they regularly called him in to work extra shifts (for overtime pay) or to extend his hours, due to illness of another baker. The implicit threat was that if he didn't comply they would take his accommodation away!
The bakers had an informal arrangement that one baker would get an extra day off each week (we worked 6 days out of 7 normally) and the others covered the extra work. It was agreed with the Foreman, and the Production Manager was also aware of it and "approved". The second night I arrived for work to find that the Foreman had called in sick! Steve took charge and sorted me out with work for the night, even though he was not officially "management" any more, but he also explained that the bakery more or less ran itself and didn't require that much supervision unless things went wrong!!
The production manager had been appraised of the situation and came in around midnight, whereupon he told Steve that he would have to take charge for the remainder of the week. Steve reminded him he was no longer a Foreman, and that he had the following night off (it was his turn that week to get the extra day off). The Manager raised his voice and told Steve that he would have to give that up this week, and reminded him that he had a responsibility to step up! He then called him to the office. About half an hour later Steve came back - "I have been suspended", he says, "For refusing to give up my day off, and for refusing to stand in as the foreman, so I have been given a week's suspension without pay!" He was furious and was refusing to accept this - it would be a formal black mark on his perfect record, and he felt it was totally unjustified. So he continued working, but asked me if I really wanted to work for a company that treated its workers like this!
About half an hour later the Manager came through - "What are you still doing here?" he demanded. Steve told him he was not accepting the suspension as it was unfair, and with the Foreman absent we needed all the workers we had. Eventually he had to leave, though said he was consulting a solicitor about it in the morning! The manager allocated me different work and he, too, left.
The following night we still had no Foreman, and no Steve, so I floated around going to whichever workstation needed help. Quite a few of the other bakers commented on the fact that this was common practice with employees who had staff accommodation, as the company felt they now "owned" them and could treat them how they liked! 
The week continued in a similar vein, but the manager had asked me to go in to see him a little early on the final night to talk over my week there. At that stage he was noncommittal about how he felt things had gone, but he apologised for the way the week had panned out without supervision, and admitted that it was not the best of situations for a trial! I must admit that part of me wondered if it had been stage-managed, to see how I would react, and whether I would try and take charge, but as I had been told not to let anyone know I was being assessed for the assistant foreman role (as "there were others here also in the reckoning"), I was uncertain as to how I should have reacted.
I didn't get the job, and I do feel that I "dodged a bullet" there!

Bakery tales - part 2

4. "Best work I have ever seen"
This bakery had a second retail shop in the centre of the city, as well as wholesale customers, and one day Jimmy had asked if anyone could do Harvest Festival bread (wheatsheaves) - it was during a handover so the day shift were there as well - and foolishly I said I had done them in the past. Jimmy said he would like one for each shop display, so I explained that usually a large one (30" x 18" baking tray) took around 90 minutes to produce, so I wasn't sure how we could fit that in alongside the normal production. He said he would see if they could do them during the day shift.
That night we arrived and on top of the bread production sheet was a note "Please make 2 large wheatsheaves, and five small ones (for customers) ... for tomorrow!" Chris, my assistant baker, and I looked at each other with horror - done properly that would take most of my shift to produce - if I did nothing else! There was no way he could do all the bread production alone, and neither Mark nor our oven man could make bread!
The only way I could do this was by cutting corners on the wheatsheaves - going against all my principles and making an inferior product - but there was no other way I could do that many in one night. First thing I did was make a really slow dough - very cold water and tiny quantity of yeast - as I didn't want it to ferment too fast, as I was going to have to work on these between my other work.
So every time I had a few minutes between doughs - when the next one was mixing, or when I should have been helping Chris with roll production - I cracked on with the wheatsheaves. The wheat stems are all rolled by hand, like thin strips of spaghetti, and the ears are cut with scissors to resemble corn - all the time the work has to be egg-washed to stop it drying and forming a skin. I made the stems much thicker than usual to reduce the number I had to make, and made the ears of corn much larger - I had to cut back the amount of work I had to do to complete them.
Eventually they were all finished and baked off, and though the other guys working with me were impressed I knew that by my standards they were very substandard! The day shift arrived before we left - yes, we were late finishing as usual - and they all commented on how good they were, and a couple of experienced bakers even asked how the heck we managed to do that many in one night (then Chris explained it was all down to me, and they were even more amazed!). I was still not that happy with the quality, but at least they were completed in time.
That evening when I arrived (always the first as I used to start by checking the production list and then working out a schedule) Jimmy was there. He came over, shook my hand, and told me how impressed he, the shop staff, and the clients the 5 small ones were sold to, were - "Best wheatsheaves I have ever seen!", he said.

What a wheatsheaf should look like!

5. Formal written warning
Bakery night shifts in 24-hour production bakeries are never easy - we are the people who have to finish off the production and pack the orders, so any problems on the day shift (including machinery breakdowns) that slow production have to be resolved by us! We used to arrive and find a production list and had no choice - we had to finish the list off the best way we could, and before 6.00 am when the deliveries went out! Our "shift" was supposed to be 20.00 - 04.00, 6 nights a week, but it rarely worked out that way! There was only ever one night that we used to get away on time, or on a couple of occasions early, and that was Sunday night, the rest of the week we generally had to work 1-2 hours extra (of course, unpaid!) to complete the work, and Friday, despite starting 2 hours earlier, we regularly worked 11-12 hours - so instead of the "contracted" 48 hours were working closer to 60!
One Sunday night/Monday morning we managed to finish early, and by "early" I mean everything was completed by 02.30 - all bread baked, all orders packed, bakery cleaned, so we left early. As we were going one of the delivery drivers, who was a close friend of the owners, arrived - said he had forgotten something. 
When we arrived for our shift Monday evening Karl was waiting for us - he said he heard we "had been finishing early" so now we had to bake off the confectionery at the end of the shift as well as slicing all the bread (something done later as you cannot slice hot bread). I explained that we had finished "early" once, which was that morning, but that generally we never got away on time, but he was adamant we had extra work to do!
This additional work put another hour on our schedule, which I was not happy with, so I spoke with the day foreman, who occasionally came in before we left, and he appeared sympathetic, and I told him that the following day we would be finishing at our scheduled time (after 8 hours) no matter what remained to be done. As it turned out there were only a few, maybe 20, loaves to be sliced, so we left "on time". 
When we arrived back that night there were letters for us all - formal written warnings, for not completing our work! The first and only time I have ever been disciplined at work - for leaving on time! The following morning I tried calling the bakery to speak to them about this, and neither owner was "available" - I went in early in the day and neither was there, but I did manage to get hold of Karl (who had written the letters) on the phone and told him I wished to speak to him, but he said he didn't have time for a few days!
That night I sent the other bakers home at 6.00 (2 hours "late") and continued on my own slicing bread. Karl came in shortly after that and asked where everyone was - and I told him I sent them home as we had already done too many hours. He had the nerve to say that "maybe you all don't work hard enough?" I flipped, I looked him in the eye and asked him if I had "idiot" tattooed on my forehead? "What do you mean?" he asked. "Do we get paid overtime?" I replied, "Of course not!", "So why the hell do you think we stay here working extra hours we don't get paid for? Don't you think that if we could finish in 6 or 8 hours we would do that? But we have to work 10-12 hours because there is that much work to be done! And when we do manage to get away early one night, we get extra work, and then written warnings! You have got to be kidding me!"
He tried to placate me and even offered me a cigarette - "You are joking, right? We are in a bakery and you expect me to accept a cigarette? There are only two people who smoke inside the premises, you and Jimmy (the owners), so if any contamination occurs you know who is responsible!" He then told me he would finish the slicing, and I could go home, but I said I would finish the work required for my shift, but that he would lose all the good people he had working if they continued to treat us the way they were doing. The next night when we arrived slicing was no longer our responsibility, but we still were working over 60 hours a week.
Ironically two nights later we arrived to find a "special" order for an additional 2500 bread rolls (it was Bonfire Night the following day and a local radio station were having a stand at the city celebrations). Normally rolls are pretty simple to produce - we had a roll-moulding machine which cut production time, though fitting that much extra production would be tricky ... and we arrived to find that the roll machine was broken! There was no way that we (well, Chris, as he processed almost all our rolls), could make that many additional rolls by hand overnight, so I had to call Karl to see what we should do. No-one had told him the roll machine was broken - it had happened during the day shift, which is why they left the extra roll order for us - but he and Jimmy came in, to their credit, bringing an old roll divider with them, which cuts a lump of dough into 36 pieces which are then rolled up by hand. Jimmy didn't stay long but Karl remained with us all night until we finished the rolls - which was 4 hours unpaid "overtime" for us all, and he never said a word about the fact that we did that without hesitation, even after receiving written warnings earlier that week for finishing "on time"!


6. "If you don't like it there is the door."
As I mentioned in my last post Jimmy and Karl never gave any of us employment contracts, which contravened labour laws. So although when hired we were told it was a 6 night a week, 48 hour a week job, none if us had any formal contract stating this is writing or laying out the terms and conditions. This was actually quite common in small bakeries, only one out of 4 I worked for ever gave me a formal contract, but the others never appeared to get caught.
The bakery was a 24 hour a day operation, though the day shift concentrated mainly on cake and pastry lines, and a solitary bakery continued when the day shift left until we arrived to relieve him, and finish the production. He suffered from Psoriasis (brought on by contact with flour!) and used to have to wear latex gloves to work, though on occasions it was so bad he had to take a few days off to let it recover. When this happened the daytime foreman, who was a nice guy, covered for him, starting a little later, and we got to meet him (I suppose I was the "night foreman" as I was responsible for the night work, though this wasn't a formal title), and talk over any problems we had during handover.
One major problem was that part of our job was to bake off some confectionery lines at the end of our shift, and often, especially by the end of the weekend, there weren't enough to meet the orders that were going out shortly. I asked him how the production worked, and he said that he was the main baker preparing the confectionery lines (which were then frozen unbaked), but only until Thursday when he had to help with bread as orders were higher for the weekend, so no-one made pastry lines on Friday and Saturday. I suggested we needed to move the day staff around a little to ensure we had enough to carry over the weekend, and he realised that it would be quite easy if he and another day baker changed their production roles - the other baker wasn't involved in bread production so could concentrate solely on pastries. As the foreman implementing this should be a simple process, and he planned to start that the following Monday when he returned to normal hours.
Monday we arrived to start our shift to find every member of staff in for a meeting - including the shop staff from their three outlets. Jimmy and Karl are there, but no foreman (I cannot recall his name!) - and Jimmy starts by telling us that he sacked the foreman this morning (during his first shift back on days) for trying to change the working system! "I am the boss and you will do what I tell you to do. This is my business!" 
"If I tell you to make a batch of bread and throw it in the rubbish, you do it, because it is my business and you do what I tell you to do. No-one changes things here without my permission. If I tell you to work a 12 hour shift, you do it, because I am the boss." I looked around at the rest of the staff and the horrified looks on their faces, including the wife of the man they had bought the business from. I had to say something: "Excuse me, Jimmy, we were all taken on to work 48 hours a week, over 6 days, and now you are changing this?" He looked at me, pointed at the door, and said "You heard me, if you don't like it, there is the door. If you think I cannot find easy replacements you can go the same way as the foreman!"
The following day I was looking for a new job.

Bakery tales - part 1

I was a baker on and off for around 13 years and met some real characters during those years - many were "qualified" bakers, meaning that they had achieved their City & Guilds qualifications, which are vocational qualifications completed by attending a college course while working several days a week, but in my experience the "degrees" were awarded rather too easily, and the level, in many cases, was very basic! I worked in a variety of bakery environments, from running my family craft bakery, to supermarket in-house (almost production line) baking, including one chain that introduced bake-off units, so no doughs were processed in the stores.
In all those years I met maybe one other baker who I would have given a job to without any hesitation, but the remaining workers would have struggled to meet my standards and gain my trust! Many of the managers and foremen I met along the way were also woefully sub-standard, even though some had passed "in-house" training as well - and there were also quite a few business owners who had no clue what they, or their staff were doing!
Here are a few anecdotes of my experiences.

1. Hit and Run.
My bakery assistant at one bakery needed a vehicle to get to work, so his best friend, who introduced him to me, sold him an old Morris Minor. Three days later he ran into the bakery at starting time, out of breath, and in a bit of a state, and told me he had gone to fill up the car and driven into another car as he left the garage forecourt - he panicked and ran off. He had not yet registered the car in his name, nor purchased insurance, so he called his friend and asked that when the Police called (as it was still registered to him!) he deny knowledge of who he sold the car to, and that he had sold it for cash in a pub! I was not that impressed by this, but we had work to do, so we started production.
Less than 30 minutes later the phone rang so I went to answer it - it was Jim's father (who was an Army Captain), who simply said "Tell Jim the Police are on the way! They called here and I told them where he works." A few minutes later there is a knock on the door, so I went and there were two Policeman standing there - I just opened the door and invited them in. Jim was still working, and they let us continue while asking questions, so they asked him if he was driving at the time of the accident. He admitted the offence and explained that he had panicked, but wanted to know how they got on to him so quickly - it was under an hour since the incident. They started chuckling - and asked if he remembered leaving anything in the car. He replied that he thought he had left his work shoes - so they produced his Filofax, with all his personal information, and a cheque book that he had left in the car. It took them only a few minutes to find his home phone number and his father had given up the work address, so it was one of the easiest "crimes" they had ever solved - and they congratulated him for owning up so readily and that this would help him out. He would probably get away with a small fine and an agreement to repair the other car. We never even paused in our work while this was going on!

2. Training for Success.
When we first decided to open a bakery I needed to find somewhere to do my "training", so we first went to a small new rural bakery suggested to us by a bacon representative (who knew both parties). He set up the meeting and my Dad and I drove out to the place, and got out of the car to wait for Reg, the Rep, to arrive. The bakery was set a little way away from the grocery shop also owned by them, and we noticed that someone inside the shop kept looking out at us. Just before Reg arrived a lady came out armed with a broom and demanded to know "what the hell" we were doing - we were standing at a road junction on public land!! It turned out that she was concerned we were a picket line, as the factory bakeries were on strike at the time (which was part of the reason we decided to try our hand at baking ourselves), but Reg's arrival defused the situation, although our visit was fruitless as the baker said he was too busy, and not experienced enough, to train anyone.
Next attempt was equally fruitless - this time my Mum and I visited a small bakery on the outskirts of Norwich, but were met with much suspicion, and again the remark that they didn't feel "qualified" to train anyone!
Fortunately the third bakery was more accommodating - the owner simply asked where we were going to be operating (over 8 miles away in a village outside the city) and agreed that I could come along the following Friday night and meet his 2 night bakers. John and Cyril were delightful old fellows - both around 60 years of age, and more than happy to pass on their knowledge to a youngster (I was 26!), and within minutes I was trying to get to grips with different types of doughs, and unfamiliar machinery (some of which I never saw the like of again!). I have always been a quick learner and was soon moulding dough into different shapes, and learning the processes, which they agreed I could write down, including recipes!
Cyril was a heavy smoker, and in fact smoked in the bakery,which was against all sorts of Health & Safety laws, placing the lit cigarette on the edge of the bench where we were working between puffs! He had badly nicotine stained fingers from his smoking, but proudly showed me how the coarse multi-grain doughs "cleaned " this off for him!
I went back the following Friday night for a second "lesson" and they were suitably impressed by what I had learnt and remembered - those two night shifts with these "old boys" were my only "formal" training I ever had, and were sufficient for me to feel confident enough to continue and open our own bakery!
Over 10 years later I happened to take a job with this same bakery, but now under new ownership, and John was still there (Cyril had succumbed to a smoking related illness!), now in his 70's. He was still working night shift, but now doing confectionery, and still working harder than most of the young bakers there - he immediately recognised me and proudly announced that he taught me how to bake, and I only needed 2 nights!

3. "What are you going to do? Fire me?"
After we sold the family bakery on my parents' retirement I worked for a variety of small bakeries, not one of which had owners/management who had any clue what they were doing - they didn't make very good bread (and we had to follow their recipes!), nor were they any good at running a business.
One such bakery was run by two friends - one was a halfway decent confectioner (but a terrible manager) and the other a former merchant seaman cook, who was a terrible baker, and an even worse manager! On nights we were pretty much left alone and simply got on with things - there were 4 of us consisting 2 bakers, an oven man (who was actually underage, but that was not something the owners worried about!), and a packer. The packer, Mark, was a bricklayer by trade, but needed the work, and was a decent hardworking young man.
Eventually Mark found a daytime job on a construction site for much more money, so he handed in his notice - or rather he wrote a letter and pinned in to the office door as we rarely saw the owners. None of us had formal contracts, which was against the law, so there was also no formal process for handing in notice, or even a legal requirement to do so as there was no contract stating the terms and conditions! However he gave them the normal 7 days notice (as we were paid weekly that was the "law" in the absence of a formal condition, which, as it was a Thursday night (well they would get it Friday morning), meant he would finish the following Thursday at the end of the shift.
We heard nothing more, however the following Thursday, Jimmy, one of the managers, was in the bakery when we arrived, so Mark asked him when he would get his final pay (plus any accrued holiday pay - but as we had no contracts we didn't know how much we were entitled to!), and Jimmy said that he had to work Friday as well to complete his week. Mark argued that as he had handed his notice in BEFORE the Friday shift this wasn't the case, and he was finishing that night.
Jimmy started screaming and shouting (as was his wont - he was a bully) and saying that as he didn't get the note till a short while ago (hadn't noticed it pinned to the outside of the locked office door!) it only "started" when he got it. Mark again reiterated that this was not his fault, and that he had complied with the law, but Jimmy again said he had to work another shift to complete the notice period. Calm as a cucumber Mark said "Well, I am finishing tonight, and if you don't like it .... you can fire me!"
Jimmy totally lost it at this stage - he grabbed a large nylon rolling pin and started thumping the stainless steel workbench with it, putting a huge dent in it! The rest of us were trying hard not to laugh out loud at this performance, which was hilarious. Mark just stood there calmly until Jimmy stopped beating the bench, and then asked "Do I finish my shift and get paid for the week, or am I sacked?" Jimmy simply walked out, and we all got back to work.
This wasn't the only occasion that Jimmy lost the plot!