In Rio they drive cars mostly by horn. The balance of it is done by guess. The din and confusion is terrific. Added to this, pedestrians pay no attention to cars and drivers give no heed to pedestrians. The latter cross and re-cross the streets wherever and whenever they get the notion.
The first day in Rio we spent driving the downtown congestion along the beaches, and other sight-seeing. The big percent is one way traffic. To get a block or so away from where you are you execute some geometric figures they didn't have in the books when I took geometry.
This day we had an accident. Driving in the downtown congestion a car from the lane to our right pulled into us, tearing off the right hind fender of our almost brand new convertible. Traffic stopped momentarily only. You would think the two owners were exchanging pleasantries. They gathered up the pieces and pulled out what was left of the fender to keep the tires from scraping, and away we went. No cops, no report, no exchange of license numbers, no fight, no profanity, no nothing. It was a bit discouraging.
At noon we gathered at the head office, collected some more officials and our host took us to lunch at the Jockey's Club. . . With the aid of all present I ate those things for which Rio and Brazil are most noted. Some most excellent, some so-so. The famous coffee at the Jockey's Club, and elsewhere for that matter, must have bitter root and paint remover in it.
That afternoon, we drove to Petropolis, the summer capitol, about 40 odd miles up in the mountains over one of the few good highways. The paved highways of Brazil, a country larger than the U.S., have a total mileage of 450 miles. That wouldn't reach from Greencastle to Topeka, Kansas. Petropolis must be a half-mile above sea level. At places, where the highway ran near the cliff's edge, you could look down and see where you had been some 15 or 20 minutes before, but you'll never know how you got from there to where you are now.
CAVERNOUS EX-CASINO
On the way is the Quintandinha (or some such spelling) Hotel—the biggest I ever saw. Here is where the Pan-American Conference was held. There it was on the mountain side, all quiet, no one about and just beginning to look a bit like our cattle barn east of Russellville, or "Happy" Cal's derby hat. The hotel is closed. The reason? It depended on its casino to keep it going. The new president of Brazil was instrumental in enacting a law making casinos illegal. So now the gambling element of Brazil is thinking of getting a new president. So you see, the world is pretty much the same all over.
We drove up under whatever it is that great big hotels have in front of them and there stood six or seven cars. Most of them held Del Mar sightseers. Nobody could get in. Our host disappeared somewhere and came back directly, saying we would get in. I asked, "How." He said, "Folding money." So you see, we are still pretty much the same, all the way around.
Did you ever see a whale of a big hay loft with all the hay left out? When we stepped through the front door into the dimness of that hotel, that was my thought. No lights and total silence. Everything on a tremendous scale and everywhere in semi-darkness. That conference room must be the size of our court house lawn, hitch rack and all. The flags of all the nations still hang. Hundreds of thousands of cruzeiros changed hands nightly under, and surrounded by those flags. Inside, I saw a swimming pool 25 feet deep at the deep end. The fellow who I think took the folding money told me in broken English the dome of the hotel was bigger than that of St. Peter's in Rome. I doubt that. I said to him, "It certainly would hold a pile of clover hay." That went clear past and beyond him. But who am I to tell a Brazilian how big his dome is?