To write this article I decide to take the car and go to visit the most extraordinary places in São Paulo, its architectural wonders, its stories, its pulsating life, beautiful museums, restaurants, clubs, etc. So here we go! As soon as I get out of the garage I’m already faced with a traffic jam. I sit there, hoping for a gap in which to move, blocking the way of a chubby kid who is walking down the street. He glares at me, but to be honest this is really no time for a stroll. After a few moments I manage to pull onto the street, but the traffic doesn’t move. I just sit there. Today is a lucky day, in any case. Usually the traffic starts inside the garage, on its exit ramp. The chubby kid falls down, stubbing his delicate toe on a pothole. He gets up and examines his skinned knee; now he seems to agree with me that this is no time or place for a walk. After all, that is not what our streets are for. A few years ago a certain public administrator whose name has now been forgotten had the great idea of exempting the city from the responsibility of street maintenance. This measure would help to balance the municipal books! As a result, every building owner is also responsible for the facade of his building, leading to a lovely assemblage of colors, forms, topographies, reflecting the tastes and level of care of each house, each building, in relation to the city. If Levi- Strauss said that American cities are already ruins when they are created, we might say the same of the situation of the streets in São Paulo. But let’s get back to the point: the car, not the pedestrians. I manage to advance a few precious meters. I see a neoclassical building, probably in late 18th-century style, built two years ago. I am reminded of an incredible situation, when they were beginning to construct this work. One Saturday morning I was rudely awakened by the din of a chain saw. They were cutting down all the beautiful old trees on the lot. I called all the proper authorities, but got no answer. One last try, I called the emergency number 190. I got a recording: “All our operators are busy at this time. Your call cannot be processed”. If you live in a city where emergency services function like that, you can realize that my attitude was utterly out of line. What’s the matter? Let them cut down all the trees! Who cares? I want to turn right at the next intersection, onto a street completely blocked by traffic. The stoplight is badly synchronized, jamming traffic throughout the neighborhood. I’ve already tried complaining about this, but there is no service for this type of problem. The people on the “articulated bus”, a 55-meter monster on wheels, get roughly jostled in the crowded space. From the windows they gaze into the void, trying to get to work on time. Demonstrating great urban planning acumen, in recent years the governments have set aside nearly all transport investment for automobile traffic. It’s the future! Tunnels, new streets, cable-stayed bridges, suspension bridges, viaducts. In the meantime, below ground, the subway grows at the amazing slow rate of less than 2.5 km per year. Who wouldn’t envy my position, sitting here in an ecological car behind a truck that spews out its mortal dose of air pollution? Experts say the diesel fuel supplied by Petrobras is unique, an endangered species: its goal is to pollute as much as possible, perhaps as an attempt to curb population growth, thus improving the quality of life in our big cities. That is the only possible explanation. I manage to turn right and I finally breathe a sigh of relief. I drive on for a while, then my car falls into an enormous hole in this recently repaved road. At the next stoplight a dwarf with a violin tries to get some spare change from motorists, blocking the road even more. A beggar on crutches rushes to get out of the way when the light turns green and the cars surge forward, only to return to their stasis a few meters ahead. Recently the city government replaced all the benches in squares and parks with a newly designed model, a first work of design for the urban furnishings of the contemporary city: a beggar-proof bench whose intentionally uncomfortable form makes it impossible to lie down and difficult to sit. I turn my head in the hope of seeing a beautiful girl in the car beside me, but both the glass and the car are black. The cars behind me and in front of me are also black. Nothing can be done, it seems like a scene from a science fiction film. I reach the next street, also blocked by traffic, of course. Worming my way into its lanes is one of my greatest achievements of the year. On the radio they’re talking about total chaos on the waterfront drive, due to an accident caused by a motorcycle. The news is the same every day, I feel like I’m stuck in time. In the opposite lane, a black SUV swerves abruptly through the only free zone in all suburbia; the owners of these big vehicles think they own the city, every day they kill dozens of pedestrians. War is war, and in São Paulo a war is on between cars and pedestrians. Four short nuns with enormous headgear enter a church. I look at the clock on the steeple. It must be showing the wrong time. But now, it works perfectly: 8:27! Some drunks are divvying up the street every 70 cm or so, with stakes strategically placed in the middle of the narrow lanes, while a woman with a baby carriage tries to squeeze her way through the cars. A disaster about to happen. A bike messenger, completely deranged as usual, slaloms through the gaps. The woman gets out of the way just in time. Whew! I’ve been behind the wheel for 40 minutes and I’ve just barely made my way around the block. I give up on the idea of writing this article. I decide to go home. Maybe I can walk to the office…
