The Genius of Brazilian Paths

Where footballers & samba dancers learn how to jink

Brazil has to be admired for its mad, misplaced optimism. Huge swathes of the population believe that one day

- There will be enough change for all the shops

- Drug trafficking and murdering will cease

- The World Cup won’t be some calamitous shambles

- Jesus will return and live in a condominium in Espirito Santo, naturally.

Lofty ideals indeed. Yet if they are to be realised, then things must start at the bottom. Underfoot actually. Until the great urban planners of the nation grasp the concept of the level pavement and all the associated benefits it brings, any such change is doomed.

Most walkways in Recife look like they’ve been constructed by a brain-damaged giant who was contracted to dispense pocketfuls of rubble from a height and then splashed some diluted grout on top as an afterthought.* Like a frantic chef adding a forgotten ingredient. So stumbling on a decent flat pavement is like finding €50 on the street. A sly glance around to make sure no one sees, a quick whistle and you’re away in a hack.

Mine clearing specialists from Recife

Warring states could do worse than recruit minefield clearers from the streets of Recife. With a population accustomed to detecting even the slightest undulation in terrain, they would make a welcome edition to the frontline of any army.** The Prefeitura (City council) could act as a recruitment agency. The abundant revenues would be ploughed into changing the city’s walkways from the current state of affairs where having rickets is an advantage, into a place where the wheelchair stricken can go for walks without buckling their wheels.

While such thinking would be beneficial for citizen and council coffers alike, a combination of cack-handed planning laws and the type of ball passing that would mock Barcelona have rendered it impotent, dangerous even. Planning laws in Recife absolve the council of the very basic civic responsibility of path maintenance. The earnest agreement between construction magnate and Brazilian politician to ensure that the construction company adheres to stringent mechanisms of pavement protection has been photographed and documented.

Brazilian Politician - “As part of the awarding of this construction contract, do you, cousin Fernando, hereby assume responsibility for the punctilious upkeep of the footpath directly in front of the building?”

Construction Magnate - “Oh Yes.”

Brazilian Politician [unsheathing a big cigar and contemplating what fruits the unfortunate but necessary tax on podiatry he will be forced to introduce will bring him mutters] – “Eeeexxxxcelente”.

This meeting was then entered into the system where it is still in line to be lazily smothered by the stroke-inducing behemoth of Brazilian bureaucracy.***

Another hole, no not the on the bike

Recife’s hodgepodge walkways reflect the chaotic lifeblood of the city. Were a doctor to examine the city’s veins he would undoubtedly prescribe dredging of the arteries. But in a state as dysfunctional as Brazil, blood clots are not too much of a problem. Each vein is clotted up like a traffic jam in a mine. Many in the mining community are still to be convinced that there wasn’t a momentary delay with the carriages in that Chilean mine and a contracted Brazilian worker just lost the plot. After ruffling in his pocket for his portable horn**** resorted to default ♯3 (after womanizing and nonplussery) and started beeping causing a massive shaft collapse. One suspects the truth will be unearthed millennia from now in a post apocalyptic world, some fossilized Bruno Mineiro, eyes bulging, hand welded to a horn that still emits a wisp of misplaced rage, like a knifed bagpipe.

It is rare to be able to walk in a straight line for more than eight strides. Even if the ground beneath is flat, there will be a dangling electrical wire to remind you to pay attention. Most urban trees I’ve seen are in parks or at the edge of footpaths. However, in Recife they say

Fuck it! Put them in the middle. Easier to paint. They grow better too.

Sometimes they just miss the path completely and put them on the road. Which only adds to the terrifying experience of driving in Recife. Kids look at you funny if you ask them-

“What came first? The chicken or the egg?”

Blank stares greet you until the penny drops and wee Glabyson corrects you by explaining that you should say-

“What came first? The path or the tree?”

Nobody knows for sure. Though I have an inkling on the side of the tree. In geological terms a pavement can be described as

… A more or less horizontal expanse of bare rock.

Which came first? The path or the tree? Not even scientists know

João Brasileiro takes the more or less part extremely literally and ignores the bare part. There isn’t enough space on the path for what does be going on there. The footpath is seen as an extension of the self. So hawkers vending vintage porn, children’s DVDs, oranges, beer, hand puppets, hat stands, budgies and deep fried snacks set up shop in the middle of the sidewalk. Carts are mounted onto the path and stools are set out should one want a refreshment while deliberating over Boracos Quentes 4. Fat Tapioca women holler at each other and the smoke from sizzling cat or pigeon meat barbequing on a skewer tells you to stick to the road chump. This is no place for a pedestrian. Perhaps it is safer to take to walking on the road, which holds roughly the same survival rates as the house band breaking into an Erasure number at one of President Ahmadinejad’s inauguration shindigs.

Even the growing contagions of evangelical churches peddling their Flat-Earth guff ignore the perilous state of the paths. You’d think that at least they would have an interest in the horizontal. But no! Not a bit of it… While considering the merits of an organized kidnapping ring which would groom kids in the benefits of implementing a flat footpath policy at some point in the future it dawned on me. *****

It’s all about football and samba. The slithery jinkiness of your average Brazilian footballer can be directly traced back to his walking patterns. A youngster sent to the shops to buy fags for his ma has to have his wits about him and concentrate on his footwork. He’ll needs to navigate the lumps, jump over holes and roots, shimmy around the homeless, dodge around traffic when the path is not an option and occasionally outpace death squads in cars. The vast majority of footballers hail from poor areas that offer fewer opportunities than an armless divorcee hankering after a wank. With Brazil so good at football, what incentive is there for the powers that be to mend the paths? ******

And so similarly it is with samba. With your average surface as uneven as the moon is it any wonder that Brazilian hips are looser? When we see the Carnaval parades in the Sambodromo in Rio, the participants aren’t dancing; they are just walking on a flat surface. 

Why would Brazil kill this cash cow? Tourists flock to Carnaval and gringo kids want to play football like the Brazilians. As always with Brazil, there is a reason for everything. It just takes a suspension of belief to get there.

Warning: Big hole here

* This might explain the massive holes on the street…giants footprints. 

** The average Recifense is prone to unpredictable and prolonged lapses in concentration. Either way, Pernambuco Gypsy has the utmost confidence that this combination of skills would result in a cleared minefield, which is of course, the ultimate goal of the landmine removal.

*** Or at least someone thought momentarily about it before being distracted by

-       A novela

-       A man selling ice-pops from a polystyrene box outside

-       A man on a bicycle blowing on a whistle 

-       A mistress[es]

-       All of the above at the same time

**** The brasileiro never leaves home without finely waxed thighs, speedos and a horn of some sort.

***** It would be like The Manchurian Candidate on a local council level. Hundreds of middle to upper management urban planners would be seeded into the Prefeitura awaiting a code word, perhaps Horizontal e Progresso.

****** The only genuinely flat surfaces in Brazil are at the Sambodromo and international airports.