Roaming Around Rio

This week couldn’t have started more differently to the last, but there were a few similarities. Last Monday’s street party and this week’s day in the office were both enjoyable, but for different reasons. Similarly, both the consumption of numerous alcoholic beverages during last week’s festivities, and my requirement to speak with foreign journalists in English, Portuguese, Russian and French(!), had the same effect: rendering me speechless.

But enough about that! After over a month here, I feel I can finally share with you my nuggets of wisdom about Rio’s transport network. Now, bear with me. Transport, like food, is one of those things that you can only really understand when you visit another country. I also think it can tell you about the people that live there. In Russia, the roads were haphazard and unpredictable (think Russian Roulette); in China, they somehow functioned, despite phenomenal mayhem; in the Dominican Republic, I sometimes couldn’t tell what was road and what was pavement. In Brazil, it is different again. Mayhem would be far too strong a word, but the Brazilians do like to keep you on your toes.

Buses

In a word: absurd. They drive so fast around Rio. You’ll get thrown around when you’re inside one and find yourself in danger when you’re not. The drivers seem to race each other around town, stamping on the accelerator and smoking the brake pads. Theories as to why this might be range from the drivers’ boredom, to a sadistic desire to terrorise pedestrians. I would like to think it isn’t the latter, but you can’t be too sure.

Almost a bus...

Metro

The metro in Rio is actually rather lovely. Being only 35 years old, it is noticeably more modern than its London, Moscow or New York counterparts, for example. Thankfully, the air conditioning works a charm and it is oh so necessary. Secondly, the trains are all wider than most others, meaning they feel less ‘tubey’ and more comfortable. I have become a wee bit of an expert, with my Oyster card equivalent and an encyclopaedic knowledge of the map. This is maybe helped by the fact that there are only two lines and about 40 stations in total. They could have made more of an effort if I’m being brutally honest.

Bike

Rio has a network of offensively orange bicycles that one can use to avoid the traffic. That is, as long as the system works. Too many times I have found myself feverishly yanking at the handlebars of a quite clearly locked bike, with an automated woman’s voice on the phone telling me that I have 45 minutes to return said contraption. Nothing is more infuriating. But then, it costs 10 Reais a month (£2.50) so I shouldn’t really complain. But I will anyway.

Bike selfie. 

Taxi

Taxis are good fun. It’s an opportunity to have a chat with a stranger. I ask his name and football team and you get cracking from there. Rush hour traffic in Rio can be ridiculous, so you need to have a couple of icebreakers at the ready. Taxis at night are a different story. Most of these drivers also like to drive around at breakneck speed, but the most ludicrous thing I have discovered is that at some point in the evening, the well-known and respected red light becomes no more than a ‘suggestion’. What. Just what. The ‘edge-out’ technique is used at every crossroads after about 9pm. Madness. Sheer madness.

Walking

There’s a lot to be said for walking in Rio. The weather is smashing at the moment and I do enjoy just looking at things, whether it’s the beach at sunset or a restaurant menu (it’s a tough call as to which I prefer). And of course, you can pass anything off as learning Portuguese really. Talking to myself is a particular favourite. I get some weird looks, but I’m having fun so it doesn’t bother me. The weirdest thing is the black flip-flop marks I get on my feet. If anyone can explain this oddity, I would be most grateful.

There are plenty of others I could go into: skateboard, moto taxi (a ride on the back of a motorbike = tremendous fun), roller-skating, swimming… But I have covered the main ones. Rio’s roads may not inspire fear like the Russian motorway does, or make my life flash before my eyes like a Chinese mountain pass, but it is somewhere that people cycling the wrong way down a dual carriageway is commonplace, and for that it must be commended. I think I’ll stick to the cycle paths…