I used to be convinced that the worst drivers in the world lived in New Jersey. I was wrong. They all live here, in Rio. In the past four days, I could have been killed on at least 7 separate occasions (don't tell my wife) on the "red line" highway that runs from Rio out to the district where I am staying, Nova Iguacu. Whoever manufactures brake pads here in Brazil must be making a mint.
Here's what I know about Brazilian driving rules: speed limits are merely suggestions, red lights are regarded as "decorations," lanes are ambiguous and using your headlights at night is not considered mandatory. Think Formula One racing, but the drivers are all psychotic.
The best line of the day was when Eduardo (our host teacher) said, "Beware that my brother-in-law, Claudio likes to drive dangerously. You might want to buckle up." Although he managed to get us home in one piece, it was a thrilling ride, to say the least.
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