Going nowhere, fast

I was convinced the cearense accent was impenetrable. That was until I heard my taxi driver speak last night. I couldn´t make head nor tail of what he was going on about.

But that was the least of my worries. When I got in the cab he told me he was on the 22nd hour of a 24-hour shift - straight and with no breaks. Just what you want to hear as you tear through Porto Alegre´s streets and red lights after midnight.

He then promptly got lost and it required a phone call to my second cousin (who I´m staying with), a visit to two petrol stations and a fire station before we finally made it.

Porto Alegre is commonly thought as different to the rest of Brazil, as being more socially organised and economically developed. But the first words from my cousin´s husband, who met me at the gate to the house was: ´´Why didn´t the boy have a map in the back of his cab?´´

One more myth bites the dust, methinks...