Sunday, December 17, 2006
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Friday, December 15, 2006
The Grenades from Ipanema
Rio looks deceptively clean and safe on first impression. Trash isn't piled on the curbs; streetkids aren't flocking on every streetcorner; even the traffic is relatively tame. Wait.... it's a holiday, so everybody is home. And there's more: the evening news announced that alongside the girls in bikinis, there were grenades in Ipanema today.
The villains from a nearby favela clashed with police forces in broad daylight next to a popular supermarket, the Zona Sul. No one was hurt. But machine guns and grenades can't be pleasing to the ear during lunchtime. The monster of poverty and crime gets swept under the rug and shows it's ugly head when least expected.
My brother and I continue our nostalgic tour of Rio. In a little rental car, we maneuver past the distant suburbs of Barra and Recreio, where we used to live 10 years ago. The endless sandy beach is backdropped by skyscrapers; then the lagoon takes over, a long waterway that leaves just a thin strip of land next to the shore. Mountains resembling Mickey Mouse and baloons sit placidly in the distance.
We used to drive along this road every day, on the way to school. It used to be quite neglected and beautiful. It is now well maintained and beautiful - with just a token of idiosyncracy. Kiosks line the promenade with stone work; speed moderating bumps keep cars at a safe velocity. Eventually we arrive at the remotest beaches, Prainha and Grumari, our childhood hangouts during weekends. The grenades and machine guns are so far away we decide that Rio isn't so bad, after all.
The villains from a nearby favela clashed with police forces in broad daylight next to a popular supermarket, the Zona Sul. No one was hurt. But machine guns and grenades can't be pleasing to the ear during lunchtime. The monster of poverty and crime gets swept under the rug and shows it's ugly head when least expected.
My brother and I continue our nostalgic tour of Rio. In a little rental car, we maneuver past the distant suburbs of Barra and Recreio, where we used to live 10 years ago. The endless sandy beach is backdropped by skyscrapers; then the lagoon takes over, a long waterway that leaves just a thin strip of land next to the shore. Mountains resembling Mickey Mouse and baloons sit placidly in the distance.
We used to drive along this road every day, on the way to school. It used to be quite neglected and beautiful. It is now well maintained and beautiful - with just a token of idiosyncracy. Kiosks line the promenade with stone work; speed moderating bumps keep cars at a safe velocity. Eventually we arrive at the remotest beaches, Prainha and Grumari, our childhood hangouts during weekends. The grenades and machine guns are so far away we decide that Rio isn't so bad, after all.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Chaos in the Brazilian Airports
SAO PAULO AIRPORTS
Sao Paulo, "Guarulhos" airport, 5:45AM, and my bags haven't arrived in the baggage claim. The Copa Air representative looks at my ticket stubs and leads me to a pair of cute, flowered small bags, announcing, "Aqui estao suas malas." Aha... so I ended up with my 3 year old niece's bags. There is dire need to rendezvous with my sister-in-law and niece, who were boarding a connecting flight to southern Brazil at 8:00AM... in a different airport - "Congonhas". So I race on a 30 minute cab ride, whose driver was better educated about politics and world affairs than most Californians, and arrive just in time for their check-in. Baggage transfer was successful, frenzy in airports as usual; but nothing like we'd witness the next day, on the connecting flight to Rio de Janeiro.
BRAZILIANS LOVE SCANDALS
There's always some sort of crisis in Brazil to incense public imagination and that common reverberation, "See! that's what's wrong with our country." Last time a priest associated with the ruling political party was caught with barrels of dollars in his underwear, as he boarded a flight. A week later another US$200K was found in a politician's briefcase on a private jet. The corruption scandal nearly brought the whole government down.
This time the crisis is in the aviation industry, which is doing a precarious pitchpole after a private American jet collided with and brought down a 150 person Brazilian airliner in the Amazon jungle. There were no survivors from the airliner. The flight traffic controllers immediately went on strike, perhaps in fear of being scapegoated, especially since their safety procedures are tremendously flawed. Media reported on de-classified aviation documents of multiple "near-misses" of large planes in the last few months.
CHAOS IN GUARULHOS
On top of all this, a severe storm hammered all of southern Brazil on the evening we spent at one of Sao Paulo's all-you-can eat sushi houses, for US$10 a person. Outside our raw fish heaven, lightning and gale winds wrought havoc. Dozens of flights were cancelled.
The following morning my brother and I walked into a madhouse at the Guarulhos airport. In an otherwise empty airport, a frantic crowd was gathered at a check-in counter, shouting and chanting in unison, a company representative standing ontop of the counter screaming back at the people. We managed to wiggle towards our gate; the angry mob followed half an hour later. "We've been waiting for thirteen hours!" These were the folks that had flights cancelled in last night's storm.
They got hold of a microphone connected to the PA system and began to proclaim their revolution: "We've waited long enough with no word! We're working people, we've got jobs to go to! We don't want no stinking hotel and lunch now! We want justice! Everyone without a flight, let's go back to the check-in counters and take over, cause we won't stop until... we have revenge!!!" In another airport, angry mobs actually went into the airplane runway and prevented departures. Our flight only delayed 2 hours; we considered ourselves lucky.
RIO FINALLY
Thence my brother and I arrived in Rio de Janeiro, cidade maravilhosa, rented a budget car without A/C or handholds, and headed towards the statue of Christ overlooking my aunt's apartment and the rest of the city.
Sao Paulo, "Guarulhos" airport, 5:45AM, and my bags haven't arrived in the baggage claim. The Copa Air representative looks at my ticket stubs and leads me to a pair of cute, flowered small bags, announcing, "Aqui estao suas malas." Aha... so I ended up with my 3 year old niece's bags. There is dire need to rendezvous with my sister-in-law and niece, who were boarding a connecting flight to southern Brazil at 8:00AM... in a different airport - "Congonhas". So I race on a 30 minute cab ride, whose driver was better educated about politics and world affairs than most Californians, and arrive just in time for their check-in. Baggage transfer was successful, frenzy in airports as usual; but nothing like we'd witness the next day, on the connecting flight to Rio de Janeiro.
BRAZILIANS LOVE SCANDALS
There's always some sort of crisis in Brazil to incense public imagination and that common reverberation, "See! that's what's wrong with our country." Last time a priest associated with the ruling political party was caught with barrels of dollars in his underwear, as he boarded a flight. A week later another US$200K was found in a politician's briefcase on a private jet. The corruption scandal nearly brought the whole government down.
This time the crisis is in the aviation industry, which is doing a precarious pitchpole after a private American jet collided with and brought down a 150 person Brazilian airliner in the Amazon jungle. There were no survivors from the airliner. The flight traffic controllers immediately went on strike, perhaps in fear of being scapegoated, especially since their safety procedures are tremendously flawed. Media reported on de-classified aviation documents of multiple "near-misses" of large planes in the last few months.
CHAOS IN GUARULHOS
On top of all this, a severe storm hammered all of southern Brazil on the evening we spent at one of Sao Paulo's all-you-can eat sushi houses, for US$10 a person. Outside our raw fish heaven, lightning and gale winds wrought havoc. Dozens of flights were cancelled.
The following morning my brother and I walked into a madhouse at the Guarulhos airport. In an otherwise empty airport, a frantic crowd was gathered at a check-in counter, shouting and chanting in unison, a company representative standing ontop of the counter screaming back at the people. We managed to wiggle towards our gate; the angry mob followed half an hour later. "We've been waiting for thirteen hours!" These were the folks that had flights cancelled in last night's storm.
They got hold of a microphone connected to the PA system and began to proclaim their revolution: "We've waited long enough with no word! We're working people, we've got jobs to go to! We don't want no stinking hotel and lunch now! We want justice! Everyone without a flight, let's go back to the check-in counters and take over, cause we won't stop until... we have revenge!!!" In another airport, angry mobs actually went into the airplane runway and prevented departures. Our flight only delayed 2 hours; we considered ourselves lucky.
RIO FINALLY
Thence my brother and I arrived in Rio de Janeiro, cidade maravilhosa, rented a budget car without A/C or handholds, and headed towards the statue of Christ overlooking my aunt's apartment and the rest of the city.
CSM On Energy Efficiency
Recent Christian Science Monitor articles:
Surprise: not so glamorour conservation works best
Greener, cleaner... and competitive?
On the road to green fuels, automakers cover some ground
Can Florida's new marine reserve replenish the Gulf's fish?
In Britain, wind turbines offer homespun electricity
Never mind altruism; 'saving the earth' can mean big bucks
Cooling the Planet at the gas roots
New Combatant against Global Warming: insurance industry
Surprise: not so glamorour conservation works best
Greener, cleaner... and competitive?
On the road to green fuels, automakers cover some ground
Can Florida's new marine reserve replenish the Gulf's fish?
In Britain, wind turbines offer homespun electricity
Never mind altruism; 'saving the earth' can mean big bucks
Cooling the Planet at the gas roots
New Combatant against Global Warming: insurance industry
Overbooked in Panama City
Turns out Copa Airlines is a Panamanian airline which ensures all coach class passengers must be either ardent yoga practicioners or have a Latin spark for human intimacy in order to fit in microscopic seating arrangements. The resulting cramped limbs were a factor in my lack of sleep that night, even though I had my brother's 200 lbs to snuzzle up against.
OVERBOOKING VOLUNTEER
My slight delirium and occasional wafts of humid air in the Panama City airport led me to a questionable decision. As we were about to board our connection to Sao Paulo, the stewardess announced the flight was overbooked and they were giving US$300 for passengers voluntarily waiting until the next flight. In retrospect, I should have just stayed for a week or two in the Intercontinental Hotel suite that Copa sponsored; and live a dirty tourist existence between picturesque la Vieja Ciudad and my lounge; with my daily allowance of $10 per meal I could have done just fine.
I briefly considered being a professional overbooking volunteer, selecting flights that were sure to be full and getting paid cash to sit tight. However there familial obligations awaiting me in Brazil. So I went with my bandwagon of pissed-off "voluntarios", a Colombian, a Guatemalan, and two other Brazilians, and hopped on the next sardine-packed tin flight to the Atlantic seaboard.
OVERBOOKING VOLUNTEER
My slight delirium and occasional wafts of humid air in the Panama City airport led me to a questionable decision. As we were about to board our connection to Sao Paulo, the stewardess announced the flight was overbooked and they were giving US$300 for passengers voluntarily waiting until the next flight. In retrospect, I should have just stayed for a week or two in the Intercontinental Hotel suite that Copa sponsored; and live a dirty tourist existence between picturesque la Vieja Ciudad and my lounge; with my daily allowance of $10 per meal I could have done just fine.
I briefly considered being a professional overbooking volunteer, selecting flights that were sure to be full and getting paid cash to sit tight. However there familial obligations awaiting me in Brazil. So I went with my bandwagon of pissed-off "voluntarios", a Colombian, a Guatemalan, and two other Brazilians, and hopped on the next sardine-packed tin flight to the Atlantic seaboard.
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