Fun Times in Transit

I am currently sitting in a ridiculously busy Sao Paulo airport terminal, my luggage spread out across a 4 metre area, having just spent the last 10 minutes rubbing large quantities of toothpaste into my feet. If this does not work, I will feel like even more of an idiot than I already look. It is seven hours until my flight to Santiago, and a further seven hours until I arrive there. People have stopped briefly to look, but this is Brazil, so they quickly lose interest and move on.

I arrived in Sao Paulo on Monday afternoon, feeling hot, generally awful, and stressed. The usual symptoms of a long-distance flight, exacerbated by what felt like the onset of flu. My arrival in the country would have gotten off to a bad start were it not for my guardian angel, Gabriella, who as luck would have it was the second person I spoke to in Brazil and one of the few I met in Sao Paulo who spoke some English. Or could understand my dreadful attempts at Portuguese. Gabriella made sure I was first on the right bus from the airport to the metro, and then went well out of her way to ensure that I had my ticket for and was placed on the right train to get all the way to another bus terminal where I would take a bus to Guaruja and a further taxi from there to my accommodation for the week. Thank you Gabriella.

The trip across and outside of Sao Paulo took until nightfall and was fairly uneventful thanks to the help I had received, the only thing I can remember of it was being amused by stickers on the buses instructing passengers to give preference to the elderly, pregnant, disabled, and obese. I can imagine an obese person heaving into the bus to see a seat open next to a poor soul suffering from polio, and nodding knowingly at them, valuing the priority seating they both do so deserve. 

I arrived safe and sound in Guaruja, not having to give up my seat for anyone, at about 20:00, with night and rain having fallen at the same time. At this point a taxi was my best bet for getting to my night’s accommodation quickly, and I went to ask a taxi driver in a row of taxis for the ride across town. Showing him the name of the place, Canto das Laranjeiras, and the area it was in printed on my page of phone numbers, Portuguese phrases, and addresses, I expected him to smile and say the equivalent of “No problem!” and usher me into the back seat. Unfortunately, he had no idea where the place was. And after a rather tense conference of 10 taxi drivers still seemed to have little idea (one of them running off with my page of everything on it, if I lost it I would be sleeping on the street) I grew concerned. Eventually, one of them was able to have an idea after phoning a friend, and we were on our way.

The home of Kaila and Tomas, Canto Das Laranjeiras, was absolutely lovely and I was welcomed there late at night with open arms. At last, I made it. I went straight to bed, utterly exhausted, relieved, and quite frustrated at how poorly I had prepared for Brazil overall. There was a mosquito in my otherwise perfect room, and I decided a quick kill before bed would be a great psychological victory to end a difficult day on. It ended up taking me 20 minutes, Brazilian mossies being quicker and smaller than their South African counterparts, but I had won the battle and gotten pretty good at killing them. Unfortunately they won the war.

Praia de Pernambuco, on my doorstep.

My first morning away from home dawned beautifully, and I quickly rushed off to the beach all of 30m from the house. It was stunning, golden sands, jungle around, islands in the bay, and the warmest water I had ever been in. Fulfilling a dream immediately, I waded out to a large jungle-covered island and climbed across it in order to get a view out to sea. There I found perfect peace, with regular swimming, complete isolation, and a great book for company. The day passed very well there, and when the thunderclouds loomed I returned to the bed ‘n breakfast to continue my reading there and pass the evening quietly.

My two trusty travel companions.

Wednesday dawned in much the same way, except that I had accidentally slept with my feet out of the blanket and had been utterly destroyed by mosquitoes intent on avenging the deaths of their comrades. There was barely any skin that was not bitten from my ankles downwards, and I have since been living in a personal hell of desperate scratching, twitching, and loss of sanity as a result.  The day needed to be used though, and I hopped on a bus or two to visit the nearby coastal nature reserve, taking a short hike over a hill to get to an almost closed off and spotless beach, Praia Branca. Also, complete with its own tidal island for me to explore and pretend I was on L O S T. Sipping a cocktail, another day passed by very well there, before I had to take my bus home and enjoy my last night in Brazil. I spent a lot of that night breaking into delirious fits of scratching.

Praia Branca...not too bad.

This brings me to today. Yet another beautiful morning following a stormy night, and I took the bold decision to spend it on the beach again. A beach so perfect deserves repeated visits I feel. As an aside, I noticed on the way that Brazilian street dogs are the only dogs in the world I have encountered which do not on some level understand “Voertsek!”. A shame. I tried to surf, thinking I could just teach myself how in less than an hour. Unfortunately I was wrong, and failed miserably to the amusement of the actual surfers. I opted instead to walk up and down the beach holding the board, oozing cool with every step. I was very proud also to have a few conversations with my fellow beachgoers, conversations based on gesticulating, guessing based on intonation*, drawings in the sand, and snippets of each other’s respective language. Remarkably, the combination of these worked to the extent where I was able to discuss the nuances of hosting a World Cup with some Brazilian surfers. The conversation ended with smiles, thumbs up, and a shout of “Waka Waka!” so I can only assume it was a success.

Tomas kindly offered to give me a lift as he had business in Sao Paulo this afternoon, allowing me a stress-free and scenic route to the airport as opposed to various connections of buses, taxis, and underground trains. Tomas also gave me the suggestion of putting toothpaste on bites, as it is apparently a common Brazilian cure. I think it actually does work to an extent, although on the downside my feet and hands are now covered with dried toothpaste without access to anything better than an airport urinal. Six hours until my flight.

Brazil, and specifically my stay at Canto das Laranjeiras in Guaruja on a pristine beach, was the perfect start to this year’s adventure. I look forward to returning and giving the country a bit more attention than my jetlagged and ill-tempered self could give it. The place exudes energy, life, and excitement. The stress is gone, my soul is restored, and I am now ready to pick up the Spanish phrasebook.

*Listening closely to intonation is a very good way of quickly understanding someone, even if you don’t know a word of their language. Example, “[Portuguese]” Me: “No se fala Portugues..” “Ooh… [Portuguese]??”  Me: “Sudafrican.” As he must have naturally asked that question. Or perhaps: “I have no idea what you just said but based on the state of your feet I am concerned you may have leprosy or a highly infectious disease of some kind. Shall I call a doctor for you?”

Praia Branca again. The water was warmer than urine...poetic.