Think global, act louco

The nanny didn't arrive at 9am as she had solemnly promised when she was given early leave on Friday afternoon. Nor did she phone to tell us why she wasn't here. Luckily, P, who is working a long and busy day in a bank, found her number and called, to be told that there was a bus strike (can any local resident confirm this ?) affecting her journey. Apparently it's a massive 3 hour commute to our place, via two buses and the usual insane traffic, hence her preference for sleeping over here Monday to Friday.

Why didn't the nanny phone before arriving five hours late ? Why did the bus workers go on strike ? Why do I have the feeling that I never get straight, simple answers about anything ? What would be worse, a less than honest nanny or a bus strike ? To me, they blur into the same societal problem and I have lost the will to know or care why things don't function properly here.

But it's ok because my time in Brazil is almost done, thanks to the mugging**, which acted as a catalyst for change. There's only so far (reasonable) efficiency and intelligence can get you in a structurally inefficient and, dare I say it, yes I dare, structurally unintelligent society. Sorry, but let's call a spade a spade. I've met some lovely people here (my iPad autocorrect replaced lovely with lonely, does it also know how to spell Freudian slip ?) and there will be things that I'll miss. But the structural problems go deep into the psyche of this place and I have long since stopped believing in this society's willpower for, and thus ability to, change.

Left holding the baby again, and gripped by the usual panic, I somehow rose to the challenge of babysitting a rather clingy and whingey infant. Despite his grumpiness, he still managed, as usual, to perform for his adoring public, casting his spell on any and every person who saw him during our walk - notably the bank staff. Nappy changes are taken in their stride, and holding him in one arm while doing all manner of things with the other has also become my new normal. (I could never be bothered with upper body workouts at the gym; now I've got them all day long.) The bigger challenge is feeding and the worry about what he needs when. My (male) mind needs very specific instructions until they become second nature. There's also the constant surveillance required now that he moves like grease lightning and is exploring new frontiers.

But when he cracks a smile, or rather a surprisingly prolonged series of smiles and laughs, the multiple hassles vanish into a puff of insignificance. And for all my criticisms of Brazil, I have to say (again) that the obvious delight and warmth shown by so many adult strangers to Sam is something special. I don't expect to see that particular cultural quirk much in evidence back in the UK (although like every doting parent I might wish to believe that my little superstar has his own trans-national x-factor).

There were three visits to the local branch of HSBC today. Since I suddenly have no access to cash, my father is trying to send emergency funds over. He is an HSBC premier customer, which means a few supposed bells and whistles, one of which is the ability to help a family member in just such an emergency. His local HSBC contact tried to set up what should have been a simple procedure for "the world's local bank". That is, money gets debited from his account and the local branch of HSBC where I live in Sao Paulo receives an equivalent credit in the local currency.

This being Brazil, my local HSBC branch said it couldn't help but, on my urging, tried to liaise with a more sophisticated branch elsewhere in the city. As is usual here, long, long, rambling phone chats ensued, full of what I call "rocket science" discussions, ie mountains automatically made out of molehills. I then spoke at length to the other branch, who then passed me to HSBC's premier call centre in ... Scotland. I had to repeat the whole thing to the chap there who told me they couldn't help since I wasn't an HSBC customer myself. So Brazil doesn't have a monopoly on rocket-science, computer-says-no dumbness.

I went home only to discover that my father's HSBC contact had indeed actioned a transfer. In fact, he called me personally and said he had spent much time on this, was very frustrated, apologetic and embarrassed that his bank couldnt seem to live up to its advertising slogan. I went back to the bank, whereupon the nice but flustered Claudia told me there had been confusion over the reference used by the UK branch (ie my name) and the reference expected by its Brazilian counterparts (my passport number). In addition, the funds had apparently had to travel a circuitous route - from London to New York to Brasilia and then on to Sao Paulo. "Come back in an hour and we will have them ready for you to collect," said Claudia. But returning at the appointed time, I was told "bla bla bla problems bla bla bla please come tomorrow at 11am", accompanied by more embarrassed apologies. I felt bad for poor Claudia.

And of course I will look forward to my 11am appointment, being a firm believer in the triumph of hope over experience. That's how Brazilian I have become.

** I've been told not to call it by the M-word but rather "armed robbery and assault". Am I already downplaying it and perhaps not realizing that I / we had a lucky escape ? I have always had a propensity for amplifying a good anecdote but in this case, so far at least, I am perhaps trying not to think about it ...

PS: Talking to the nanny on her return, P is inclined to believe her story. What's more, she points out how transport strikes here hurt the working class much more than the rich, cosseted as they are in their cars.

With her cash stolen in the robbery last week (we could only reimburse her with a cheque), Maria had no money to pay for alternative transport, not that there was much. A taxi would have cost her 100 reais (£40) so she was lucky to get a lift with her nephew who charged "only" 30 reais (£12).

What a mess. You get the feeling that too many people here in "booming Brazil" are running to stand still, or to use another metaphor, endlessly wading through treacle. For those without money, Sao Paulo is much more punishment than pleasure.

Update: Dutifully returned to bank at 11am today, to be met with yet more huffing and puffing, sighing and frowning from Claudia, as she telephoned here, there and everywhere. Waited another eternity while nothing but confusion reigned. Finally, while she was secreted somewhere behind closed doors, I went back to the ATM machine in the lobby and tried my card one more time. And it ... worked. Cold hard cash was suddenly in the warm embrace of my eager, clammy hands. Why, why, why are things happening in quite such a weird way ? Am I a character in someone else's black comedy ?

Anyway, I tried to alert dear Claudia but she was nowhere to be seen. When eventually she reappeared it was with the good news that she at last had my money, which she proceeded to count in front of me. Offering an exchange rate of 2.3 instead of today's spot rate of 2.6, after HSBC charges. She was now deaf to my mumblings that actually I'm not sure I needed or wanted it anymore. "Too late, sir, too late, take your wretched money and let me nurse my sore head in peace." I editorialize somewhat.

If Brazil functioned properly, people here would be so much happier and less stressed. My new friend Mark, a British IT expert now living in Sao Paulo, tells me that Brazil is a big cheese in the international IT market. Which just makes it even more mystifying: get your systems to work, get your transport to work, get your communication to work and life here would be infinitely easier. This money transfer nonsense and the ATM nonsense is just farcical.