The Lot

You could probably spend a lifetime studying the culture of the car in São Paulo. It's a matrix of advantages and disadvantages. The city has some of the planet's worst traffic. Reason enough to not have a car, and yet, proof that you probably do. Many streets aren't safe to walk at night. You'd probably rather drive. But with your car comes all kinds of new crime to worry about like carjackings and "express kidnappings" (to quote my dear friend Ryan Keiper, "Express! They don't even make you wait"). For every plus to having a car comes a massive minus and vice versa.

Dani and I are car-less and it's for the better. Aside from the added expenses, paperwork and traffic, I can't have a car because the culture of driving is so vastly different from the US. There are few times I've ridden with a Brasileiro where we haven't had--what I would consider to be--a near death experience.

There's this understanding here that close calls mean nothing. In the US, accelerating towards a group of pedestrians at a crosswalk is on par with trying to lure a child away from a playground with a lollipop. Here, it's just normal. The driver is counting on the pedestrians being out of his way when he arrives at the crosswalk and the pedestrians know it's nothing personal when his side mirror brushes the sleeves of their shirts. Cars cut inches in front of each other constantly. Pulse rates are unaffected by sudden, screeching stops.

The average Brazilian is twice the driver of the average American. These people operate small vehicles and they have a complete understanding of space. It's truly intimidating to watch. No wonder Senna was the best.

Parking is also a different world here. There are private lots, yes. There is curb parking, yes. To date, I still haven't seen a single parking meter. Coming from the US, I realize I'm like an abused dog adjusting to a new owner. No meters. What? Only a sign that says either E or E with a slash through it. None of that "6 am to 11 pm," or "Zone 2 holders only," or "Except on holidays," and then you have to figure out whether Columbus Day counts.

Instead, Brazilian parkers have to cope with "flanelinhas." I was introduced to these people tonight. Some friends picked Dani and me up for dinner. We made our way towards the restaurant and found a spot on the street nearby. Emerging from the car, a guy come up to us and asked us loudly to move the car up a little bit. Apparently we were too close to blocking some entrance. Our driver got back in the car and did as asked. The driver then asked me quickly for R $2 (US $0.75). I gave it to him and he hustled across the street to give it to the guy.

This was at 9:00 pm on a public street. I said to Dani, "Wait. Who is this guy? Does he work for the street or something?"

She explained later that men in his position are called flanelinhas (loosely translated: "little cleaners"). They basically operate like a scaled-down mafia. They adopt a street. You park there. You pay them for protection. That's that.

What happens if you don't? Well, there's no guaranteed punishment, but it's pretty much a roll of the dice whether or not you'll find your car later exactly as you left it. You're better off greasing their palm.

Is this a downside to the city? Yes. But what about a friend of mine who's lived here for a year and said he's yet to see a cop pull someone over for speeding? An entire year. Again, the abused pup in me flinches. It's strange to live in a new world where the police have much bigger issues to deal with than going 62 in a 55.

What does it take to get a DUI in Brazil? 0.01%. If there's a trace of booze in your system, you're done. I love it. Will it ever happen in the US? Not a chance.

Dani and I use our feet or the Metro for most any transportation. It's great to descend beneath the gridlock and fast forward across town. The wonderful Metro's biggest shortcoming, though, is that it doesn't service enough of the city. We hail a cab instead. They're cheaper here (if you're playing with US money), but as traffic snarls to a stop, you're freshly reminded that you're in the city of the car. And now you're part of the problem just like everyone else.