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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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?”
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| Praia Branca again. The water was warmer than urine...poetic. |
