Understanding Brazil – The Sellers

Brazilians don’t appear to be lazy, at least not to my eyes. Unlike at home, there aren’t many people who do absolutely nothing. This might be a product of the welfare system, but even the streetkids juggle to get money. Everyone else is at least trying to sell something, and what they sell varies greatly. I enjoy seeing what people are hawking at the major road junctions. It makes me wonder just how many people set off for work in their cars first thing in the morning and got halfway there before realising ‘Oh no! I’ve forgotten my binoculars! Where the hell can I buy a new pair around here? Aha! What a stroke of luck!’ Or how many of them gnaw their way through the plastic steering wheel covers due to the stress of driving in such a Metropolis. Perhaps the binoculars are to see the front of the traffic jam. One thing I haven’t seen is the (probably male only) drivers portable toilet for use in traffic that I saw in Bangkok. Perhaps I should import some.

It’s not an easy job though, selling glove puppets in the middle of a 10-lane highway, which is probably why the sellers have adapted their tactics. On public transport in Brazil, you will always see at least one seller per journey entering the carriage or the bus, distributing their wares to the passengers, and collecting them up shortly after giving a speech about the benefits of rubber hairbands. I find it hard to understand why people are willing to hold some goabinha for a while without wanting to buy it. Will the smell encourage them to buy it? Personally, I know immediately that I don’t want to buy some chocolate, especially if has been through the hands of 18 different people in the last half an hour in the sweltering heat of the number 856. But at least on the buses it seems possible to travel for free just by pretending to sell some combs. I don’t know if the sellers have licences but they seem to get on at the back without paying. It might take a few trips to complete an already long journey, but at least you can save R2, and maybe even make a bit of money on the side from those combs. Also, you know there is an easy way to get rid of unwanted presents or goods on public transport – a litter of puppies say – if necessary. You can climb on the back, place them on people’s knees, and then make an emotional speech to encourage people to buy something they didn’t realise they wanted.

So don’t be alarmed if, after a power-nap on a Brazilian bus, metro or train, you wake up to find a plastic turtle on wheels on your lap, or a baby crocodile looking up at you with Bambi eyes. It’s all part of a day’s work for the sellers in Brazil.

Brazil Places: Ilha de Gigoia

Most visitors to Brazil (and possibly most Brazilians) will never have heard of Ilha de Gigoia, let alone been there. It’s not a very big island – twenty minutes walk will take you right across it. The walk is an easy one as there are only footpaths on the island, no roads or cars. This gives it a tranquil air, one of those places where it’s impossible not to relax with no other noises except birds singing, meat grilling and beer cans being opened around the pool. What may surprise you is that it is possible to get from the island to Leblon or Ipanema in a little over half an hour if the boats are timed right. Because Gigoia is right in the heart of Rio. Or very close to it.

It is one of the largest islands in Lagoa de Tijuca, which lies at the northern end of Barra de Tijuca, around the rocks from Praias Leblon and Pepino, and from the twinkling lights of Rocinha. If you have a car, you leave it at the edge of the laguna. There are boats that transport all the residents from home to work or to the shopping centre and back. This means you get to know the drivers and some of the locals quickly, and feel part of the furniture within a couple of days. It may take a little longer to get where you want to go, but your journey will always start with a smile. You can sit at the Gigoia equivalent of a bus-stop and watch crabs fencing on the roots of the half-submerged trees as you wait. Then you can kick back and watch ducks drift past the boat and clouds drift past the treetops of the Floresta de Tijuca on the hills above you. If you’re staying at a pousada on the island, it’s likely that you’ll be holidaying in the city anyway, so what’s the hurry? Relax, do it Carioca style, arrive when you arrive.

The boats run 24 hours too, so after partying hard for a night, you can sit on the edge of the wooden jetty and dangle your legs over the water while listening for the faint chug that heralds the arrival of the boat from out of the early morning mist, like the ferry for crossing the River Styx. You can also place bets on which driver is taking the graveyard shift this time. All you have to do is to remember the name of the place you’re staying, and you will be deposited right on the private jetty, with only a small risk of falling in amongst the fighting crabs, and tucked up in your bed sucking your thumb in no time. The novelty of arriving at home like this in the middle of one of the world’s great cities won’t wear off if you only stay for a week or less.