Driving Update

One of the principal reasons I started this blog, believe it or not, is simply that I felt like railing about the reckless way Brazilians drive. And I did so (blogpost of July 11, 2011). And, if I hadn’t been so afraid of exhausting my readers’ patience, I could have railed plenty more. But given that I’m generally an honest person, I must now give credit where credit is due. Or give the devil his due. One of those two. Brazilians do not yet drive in as disciplined a manner as the North Americans. Driving here is still in many respects a sport and, for many people, maybe even a blood sport. It calls for skill in the manipulation of a manual transmission, skill in maneuvering in tight spaces and problem roadways, skill for laser-quick judgments of times and distances. It is not yet, as it has become in the U.S., just a means of getting to and from work, getting the kids to soccer practice, and getting the groceries home from Trader Joe’s or WalMart.

"Smile, you’re being fined"

But in the twelve years I have lived in Brazil, I have seen real, positive, tangible changes in the way Brazilians behave behind the driving wheel. Much of the credit goes to government — at federal, state and local levels alike — for getting on the bucking bronco and whipping it into submission. For one thing, there are traffic-calming devices like crazy — speed dips, speed ramps, speed bumps, speed humps, speed tables and speed cushions, all of which are marked pretty clearly. You see them coming. But if you don’t see one of them and you hit it hard, ouch. You’re going to keep your eyes peeled in the future. There are also speed cameras and radar equipment like crazy (both visible and hidden). These enforcement devices may not jar your spine the way flying over a speed hump does, but they sure hurt you in the pocketbook! For example, between us and the town of Macaé, about an hour away, we’ve counted over 25 of them. And, though we ourselves drive with a cautiousness bred in the land of Driver Ed and the famous Signal 30 scare-their-pants-off film, we’ve gotten enough citations in the mail so that we don’t drive to Macaé anymore unless we absolutely have to.

To these measures, add breathalyzers, and a permissible blood alcohol level lower than you’ll reach on a single beer (0.1 mg of alcohol for liter of air expelled). For that one beer you can end up paying a large fine, losing your license for up to a year and even serving some jail time. Then add mandatory driving schools. Add rigorous practical and psychological testing for new drivers. And public service announcements on television. Add mandatory retraining for drivers who rack up over 20 points on their licenses. There’s some serious enforcement here and I, for one, welcome it!

Drive right in here, and take a deep breath

Interesting, and effective, public service campaign

When Mark and I moved here the idea that a driver might stop for a pedestrian in a crosswalk was almost ludicrous. It was the motorist who claimed the right of way, and pedestrians were wise not to trust their luck. But, while we still haven’t reached Californian levels of compliance with crosswalk laws, the situation has quite unmistakably taken a major turn. It’s as if stopping for pedestrians was contagious. One person did it. Everybody else copied. Brazilians now seem in effect to take pride in the courtesy they show.

But let me go back to where I started. Driving here is still neither as disciplined as it is in the U.S., and neither is it consequently as safe. But most new drivers in the U.S. had parents who were drivers and probably grandparents who were drivers. Driving as well as car-ownership have long been routine in the U.S. Here many drivers are first-generation drivers, and widespread car ownership is a function of the only recent emergence of a vast middle class. I don’t know the Asian countries. But, if what I hear about driving in India and China and Vietnam is true, Brazil may still be some distance from U.S. standards of behind-the-wheel prudence, but it’s at a far greater distance from the amazing mess you see in this picture from India. And this pretty much reflects just where we stand on the development scale. Down here in Southeastern and Southern Brazil, we’re not yet 100 percent First World. But we’re getting really close.

Three Things I Miss About The Good Old U.S.A.

1. Disciplined traffic — On our most recent visit back to the States Mark and I rented a car at Miami airport. A courteous driver slowed down to let us join the flow of traffic and we continued seamlessly north on I-95. All the cars obeyed the speed limit, keeping pace at a steady 55 miles per hour (88.5 km), increasing to 65 (104.6 km) the further north we went, but only when it was allowed. Drivers used the left-hand lane only for passing, otherwise they stayed to the right. Nobody rode on the shoulder on the right. What might seem to a first-time visitor to be a Stepford-Wife-like submissiveness to the rules of the road gave me a profound sense of security. I relaxed in a car for the first time in a long time. I knew our fellow drivers had all taken driver's ed in high school, were properly licensed and were probably not fleeing the scene of a crime. In a much earlier blog (Driving in Brazil, November 7, 2011) I gave in to a little rant about the bumper-car-style driving of Brazilians. Well, I grant you that driving in Brazil is far more exciting than this auto-pilot traffic we were cruising in on I-95, but as the years encroach I find it's an excitement I can do without.

2. Bagels — This is such a cliché, isn't it? And I even subscribe to the "if-you-can't-live-without-your-comfort-foods-stay-home" philosophy. But as the years in Brazil went by, I found myself with a real taste for an everything bagel. I literally hungered for one. So I decided to make them here myself, as best I could. And armed with the ancestral recipe (complete with a secret step bypassed by most home bagel-makers) I succeeded. My small, sesame-poppy-seed bagels — what we've come to call "dainty bagels" — actually look and taste like the real thing. Aren't they cute? We found all the fixings, too, even Philadelphia-brand cream cheese for that all-important smear. Now every once in a while, when I feel up to it, I make a batch and we invite other bagel-cravers to a real bagel brunch. (But now that I think of it, just why is Philadelphia-brand cream cheese even available here, if they don't have bagels? What else is it used for? These are the mysteries.)

3. The Sunday New York Times — I look at the New York Times online nearly every day. So what is it, you might ask, that I'm missing? And why am I particularly missing the Sunday edition? Well, I think I miss its heft, its feel, its presence. I miss how it punctuated our week. I miss the ritual we had for reading it. In Manhattan, the Sunday Times was available early, on Saturday night. So that's when we'd get the paper, take refuge back home from the Saturday night rowdies, open a bottle of sparkling wine and settle in for a long, leisurely read. Here in Búzios we've developed a comparable ritual (old habits do, indeed, die hard). Since what's important to us now is what's happening in our neck of the woods, we buy O Globo every Sunday morning. It may not be the Sunday Times, but it's a solid substitute. Now we settle down to O Globo, a leisurely breakfast, and . . . it's not too early for some sparkling wine, is it?

Driving in Brazil

My mother taught me that if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all. So because I like to think of myself as an obedient daughter — and because I think it was good advice —  I'm tempted to hold my tongue on the subject of driving in Brazil. But I won't. I can't. Brazilian driving is the bee in my bonnet, the pea under my mattress, my pet topic, my bugbear. It is the only stress in my stress-free life. I can't get through the simplest outing in the car without screaming some choice epithets, flashing the finger, gesticulating, yelling, or holding my breath in mortal fear (and I'm not even driving, I'm just the passenger).

Brazil does have a Traffic Code, and it is based on the 1968 Vienna Convention on Road Traffic. There are extensive Rules of the Road, including long sections on Defensive Driving and First Aid. In order to receive Brazilian drivers licenses Mark and I had to study these rules, then take a sophisticated computerized test, a difficult psychological written exam and an eye exam. The Motor Vehicle Bureaus around the country perform rigorous annual vehicle inspections. There are radars and speed bumps everywhere, and heavy fines for scofflaws. It is not for lack of regulations, enforcement or will that Brazil has plunged so far down the traffic fatality slope, fatalities which last year alone totaled upwards of 40,000.

So what is it? Aggressive tailgating, reckless passing — on the right, on the left, into the oncoming lane — it just doesn't gibe with my sense of the Brazilian spirit of paz e amor. I was baffled until one white-knuckle ride into Rio, when it came to me in a flash. Futebol. The national sport, the national passion. They're all playing soccer. The drivers are forever cutting in front of each other to take any field advantage they can, they're passing with reckless abandon to get to the imaginary goal posts. One car scrapes against another? Just a rebound, the ball (or in this case the car) remains in play. Driving at breakneck speed on the shoulder? No worries, that's just an offside position, which is not an offense in itself.

Sir? Sir? I believe that's called the Oncoming Lane.

Mandatory traffic rules I learned in high school Drivers Ed are treated by many drivers here as optional. Stop signs are just a  suggestion, observed by only a few. A Yield sign is observed by no one. Emergency Vehicle Priority? That's just a challenge for a driver to maneuver behind the emergency vehicle and ride its coattails. Pedestrian Priority? You're joking. And weren't we taught that to keep a safe distance from the car in front of you, you had to be able to see the car's back tires? Brazilian drivers tailgate close enough to smell the alcohol on the breath of the driver in front.

I've lost count of the number of near accidents I've witnessed. But since they were only near accidents, since the drivers maneuvered and veered and avoided and stopped just short of the actual accidents, there is an argument that can be made that Brazilians are excellent drivers. I even see the logic there. Apologists cite the poorly maintained roads, the bad or misleading traffic signs, and some blame the weather. Huh? The weather? But nobody is forced to put the pedal to the metal. That's cultural. After all, Brazil ranks second in the list of foreign-born winners of the Indy 500, and third on the Formula One list. They love speed. It's not for nothing that the soccer breakaway is one of the most exciting plays in the game. 

One thing for certain, no one in Brazil has ever watched "Signal 30," the driving safety film they forced us to sit through in Drivers Ed. Remember? A film so graphic for its time, so horrifying, that even the most macho football team captains ran out of the classroom vomiting and girls fainted in their seats? Well, I remember it. And I think it should be resurrected in Brazil. So right here, right now, I'm going to do my part: 

Alert: Strong Content, Parental Guidance Required