Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiilma

Last week I had a meeting in Casa Caiada - literally, The Whitewashed House - a municipality just past Olinda, maybe 20km outside of Recife. Following the meeting, I stood on the sidewalk of the main street hoping that a cab would pass by and whisk me back into town. After what seemed like longer than I should have had to wait, a cab passed and I flagged it down. I got in the cab, and immediately regretted my decision. Perhaps I should have waited for the next one....

The car was a flimsy model, one in which the material protecting the driver and passengers from the outside world was as thick as a piece of cardboard, perhaps just as strong. The seatbelts were non existant [as they are in the majority of cabs here] and the latch on the door was precarious at best. As I nervously settled in, I wondered whether I should tell the driver that I was actually going to be getting out much, much sooner and then grab a different car back. It was when I leaned over to check that the meter was running properly, that I noticed ... the driver HAD NO SHOES! Not even the ubquitous havaianas or other brand of flip-flops. In fact, his feet were huge with splayed toes and clearly looked like they had never known a pair of shoes. I decided to take my chances, obviously the fellow had survived until now and perhaps the fare could be put towards some variety of footware, but honestly, I half expected that the floor of the car would fall through and he [and I] would both have to propel ourselves forward using our feet. It looked like it had been done before!