The Police, Tinder and Toadstools

After a hot, very sweaty trek through the jungles of Ilha Grande and a rewarding Coco Verde (fresh ice cold green coconut with the top machete’d off to get to the water inside) we left this paradise island. Our journey back consisted of a wet 20 minute speedboat trip across a small strait of Atlantic Ocean, a worryingly efficient bus ride back to the centre of Rio, a concerning stroll through a dodgy park and a chat with the Brazilian Police.

Let’s deal with the bus ride first: I don’t know if you are familiar with the computer games Grand Theft Auto or Mario Kart - if you’re not then Grand Theft Auto is a high speed racing game full of guns, illegal transactions and questionable Highway Code violations committed by someone resembling a young Wayne Rooney. Mario Kart is a psychedelic high speed racing game full of even more questionable Highway Code violations committed by an anthropomorphised toadstool. Now imagine a combination of the two without the toadstool or Rooney and you have an approximation of our 2 hour bus journey back to Rio. Once our luggage had been squeezed under every available seat, we set off, efficiently accelerating from 0 to 90km/hr in about 3 seconds and rarely dipping below 70 for the remainder of the journey. Our driver preferred the outside lane which would have been reasonable had there been road markings to delineate it. Instead a total free-for-all ensued with cars, vans and heavily laden juggernauts jostling for prime position. ‘Mirror, signal, manoeuvre’ was re-interpreted as ‘Manoeuvre, mirror, signal’ and judging by most of the outcomes, conducted with eyes closed. Our driver seemed to have more sense than most and kept his eyes open. Thankfully.

On arrival at dusk, we were deposited outside the departure terminal at Santos Dumont Airport. Our Ibis hotel was in theory an easy 5 minute walk. Theories don’t always carry through to reality and between us and our hotel lay a dimly lit ominous park patrolled by a selection of characters who would not have been out of place in the aforementioned computer games. Anthropomorphised toadstools included. We set out, sticking to the well lit pavements on the other side of the road and finding a gently sloping footbridge to carry us over the end of the park and the busy road below. Finally - safety. A shadowy predatory figure lurking under a tree on the pavement, a woman manically ranting at some imaginary figure in florid Portuguese and a large plastic container hurled from a covered walkway that narrowly missed us told us otherwise. I never thought I would utter these words but I longed for the poorly fitting sheets and utilitarian functionality of an Ibis Hotel room. The red flashing lights of a Police truck provided an element of much needed comfort. In the absence of any other reliable source of directional information, I wandered over.

The Police in Rio are not as friendly as your local London Bobby. For a start there is very little that differentiates them from a covert ops soldier in dress sense, demeanour and sheer fire power. Just approaching them is a somewhat life-affirming experience. There were two - one leaning on the back of the truck wearing ballistic eye protection presumably needed for the massive sawn-off shot gun he was holding (not to mention the hand gun and stun grenades strapped to his waist), and the other was sitting in the driving seat behind his closed window. I took a deep breath, put on my very best ‘please-don’t-shoot-me’ smile and approached. I was greeted with icy suspicion. Happily I’d had the foresight to have already retrieved my phone from my trouser pocket (nothing like walking towards a suspicious trigger-happy Policeman whilst sliding your hand into your pocket). Predictably he didn’t really understand what I wanted and I didn’t understand what he was saying. Corkie in the meantime was about 10 feet behind with her hands already half way up in predicted potential surrender. The officer gestured to the car door. I initially thought for a ridiculous moment that he was offering us a lift. The outcome of that miscommunication almost doesn’t bear thinking about. He was in fact (of course) gesturing for me to speak to his colleague. I stood by the closed drivers window and waited patiently. And waited. And waited. The reason the second officer hadn’t noticed me is because he was busy unsubtly swiping through scantily clad Brazilian women on tinder and catching up with his tinder messages. He finally noticed me and beamed a huge friendly smile, winding down his window and responding to my Spanglish question for directions. 3 minutes later we were safely in the hotel - relieved, hungry and grateful for the policeman and the women of Brazilian tinder keeping him happy.