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With rain, rain, and more rain in Rio, and the forecast for rain over the next week, I decided to head off in search of a dry patch of ground somewhere else in Brazil. My first idea was to simply return to Foz do Iguaçu and then back home to Corrientes. After all, travelling in the rain is not highly entertaining… especially with an old umbrella that leaks on the inside.

Leaving Rio
It was 5.30pm when I made the decision to go. Wet shoes, wet clothes, and tired from walking, I had checked into my hostel for the night and paid the fee. Sitting there in the room, staring out the window at the never-ceasing rain, it started to make more sense to go than to stay.

Checking out of the hostel only hours after checking in surprised the clerk at the front desk, but he kindly agreed to refund me the total amount. With my leaky umbrella and overstuffed backpack, I joined the crowds jamming onto the bus during peak hour. Our bus weaved its way jerkingly through the traffic until we finally arrived at the bus station.

Sneaking A Ride
On the journey, four young boys from the favella (slum) sneaked onboard through the exit door of the bus. This almost caused a riot between them and the bus driver who looked ready to almost kill them, even before he had stopped the bus. The atmosphere was tense as the boys remained in the bus. After a few stops, it was obvious that the boys would not get off, much to the consternation of the bus driver. So to relieve the tension between all, I leaned over to the conductor and paid for their fare.

This small act caused a significant commotion in the bus at the time, and what had started out as being quiet and to the side, ended up being announced to all that were present. When the boys heard this, they came forward from their hiding places and sat near me. They were all around 10 years old, their dark skin covered in even darker stains and dirt. Their dishevelled hair and tattered clothes did nothing to obscure their cautious smiles of grattitude in acknowledgement of what I had done.

Finding A Destination
Then we arrived at the bus station. Somehow, in the midst of these boys, I managed to leave behind my leaky umbrella. As the rain seemed to be through most of eastern Brazil, Foz do Iguaçu seemed the best choice, but the news was all bad for this destination. Every bus had already left, and the next bus out of Rio was at 9am the next morning. Time to change plans.

In my original idea, the plan was to head through Rio to Curitiba and then Florianopolis on the way back to Foz. Curitiba is on the way back to Foz, so it became the next possible destination. On enquiry, there was 15 minutes spare before the next bus left. Perfect timing. Sold, a ticket to Curitiba.

Curitiba
Here in Curitiba it is still raining. Lots. My original plan does not look so great now. One day here, and head back to Foz tonight. The best part of travelling is to time each journey so it incorporates a night. That saves the price of accommodation and gets you there faster. A mobile bed.

Talking of travel. Here in Curitiba is a great bus system. Double-length buses run on specialised roads in the midde of the street, stopping at “tubes” to load and unload people through different doors. All passengers about to board have already paid at the entrance to the “tube”, making the transition time at the bus-stop rapid and efficient. I had read about this in a book on Brazil that claimed this system was the most advanced in the world. They could be right too.

So now I am travelling around a little. Shopping center, cinema, city center, and possible sights. A map with circles all over it of where the next best thing to see could be. Rain separates us, standing between me and my objectives. Time to shop for a new umbrella.

Time to go.

Filled with fear, I watched every face as it passed by, looking for a killer or thief hidden in the expression. My mind was filled with concern at every step. More than cautious, I was becoming close to paranoid. What had done this to me? Stories abounding with thefts and robberies, of muggings and other frightening events that had occurred in Rio de Janeiro.

I moved about the city, checking out the sites, but never allowed myself to become adventurous. There was too much risk in this place… too easy to become one of the “statistics”. I did not want that, as much as I wanted to see things and look around, my panicked mind reasoned that there was a balance between adventure and foolishness. That was my first time here.

Now I can see that the line I had previously drawn between adventure and foolishness was very unrealistic and restrictive. Life in South America is very different to the life that I had come from. The things that frightened me back then are now just every day scenarios.

The dark and ominous looking streets that looked highly dangerous back then were actually just industrial sections of town that were no more dangerous than the beaches. The groups of boys hanging around were never gangs but just a bunch of friends in this relationship oriented culture. The tough looking men walking down the street and checking me out were actually just workers who had finished their shift that were looking over this stranger in their midst who had so much fear in his eyes.

Of course there is always a very real danger in any big city, and Rio is not infamous without cause. There are always general rules to follow and wisdom principles to apply when in any unfamiliar city. But now that I am back here in Rio again, I can see how tiny the “boogy monsters” were that plagued me during my first visit.

Everything is different the second time around.

As it seems to be my routine now, I managed to make it to the bus station only minutes before the bus was due to leave, climbing onboard and hardly getting settled before we were on our way. An elder man sat beside me and patiently waited while I moved and twisted my bag around to get it to fit in the small legroom space of my seat. Not a word was said, but it was clear that he was glad to finally be able to use his legroom space after all of my activties.

Heading Off Again
Starting out from Curitiba at 9.30pm meant that this was a night drive from the outset. Brazilians tend to live a different lifestyle to the Argentines, and while the Argentines would be putting on another movie to watch and serving up dinner, we were sitting in the dark with everyone else trying to doze off. I think that this was my first small experience of culture shock.

Not wanting to sleep just yet, as I have become quite accustomed to the late night traditions of Argentina, I pulled out my book and read by the dim yellow light provided overhead until it reached a more reasonable hour. Outside it was raining, and at times it rained very hard. Our journey took us over some very beautiful terrain, although all was obscured by the night, the rain, and the misty and dirty windows. Apart from a slow start to the journey through some stop-start traffic on the main motorway, I remember very little of the journey until waking in the morning.

My wake-up call in the morning was not our arrival in Foz do Iguaçu but rather the replacement of the small man seated beside me with a lady that really needed a lot more space than the one narrow seat provided. From that point on, with my already limited space now invaded, I found it hard to sleep. Every move I made seemed to affect the lady beside me, if I moved one way I was pushing against her, and moving the other way would catch and drag her coat. Whatever I did tended to cause some sort of reaction from her, which in turn would wake me from whatever level of sleep I had managed to descend to.

A Quick Stop In Paraguay
Arriving in Foz, the rain just started to lift, leaving low lying clouds with furry fingers reaching out toward the ground. It was a pretty sight, although the cold air and biting wind kept it from being anything more. Water was everywhere on the ground, reminding me that this rain had only just stopped, and following my experience in Curitiba, it was likely to start up again at any time.

There was a bus leaving for Corrientes at 10am today. If I did not make this bus, then I would need to wait until 9.30pm instead. Spending 12hrs in a small town was not highly appealing to me, so I planned on getting this earlier bus. Since we had arrived here at 7.30am however, there was time for a quick mission to Paraguay before I headed back to Argentina.

Leaving my bag at the lockers, I headed over to Ciudad del Este (CDE) in Paraguay to complete a promise for a friend. I had bought a computer brain (CPU) in Buenos Aires, and needed a motherboard to plug it into. CDE was the best and cheapest place to find this, but the first time I came here the CPU was dead. So after replacing it with one that I was promised would work, I now headed off to the shops to grab the rest of what I needed.

When I got to the shop, the technician kindly informed me that this one also refused to work, indicating that it too was dead. I could not believe it. How could it be that two different CPUs could be dead. It was not easy to return to CDE, and the prices in Argentina were very high. I was really starting to regret having purchased this thing in Buenos Aires, because it too was a long way away. Without any other options available at the time (except buying another CPU which would make everything too expensive), I thanked the tech. and headed back to the bus station.

Making Up Time
In all of my chatting and idle walks around CDE, I had not noticed that the time had really moved on fast. It was already just past 9am, and I had not left Paraguay yet. Using public transport was out of the question if I was going to make my bus, as there were three different buses that I would need to catch. Instead, I jumped aboard a motorbike-taxi and asked the guy to take me out to the bus station.

Most of these guys simply take you where you need to go and then take off. My guy took the opportunity during slow sections to chat with me and find out what I was doing. After spending two weeks surrounded by Portuguese and struggling to make sense of it all, it was wonderful to have a conversation in Spanish again. Not only did he find out about me, but I also discovered that he was an Argentine that moved to Paraguay after the financial crash in 2001.

Throughout these dotted conversations during moments when the wind-noise was not so loud as to drown everything out, we started to re-negotiate our original deal. Rather than drop me at the bus station, my motorbike-taxi would now wait for me to pick up my bag (a daybag sized backpack) and take me all the way to the bus station in Argentina. Originally the price was excessive, but we finally settled on something that was significantly less, in part because the guy thought I was a “good bloke” and in part because it was the only unbroken money that I had on me.

Time was marching onward, and I could see that this was probably my only chance at the early bus, so we shook hands and took off again for Argentina. This time I had a heavy pack on my back that tried to pull me backwards off the bike everytime we accelerated, and my slingbag that would wave around in the air as we raced down the road at some impressive speeds. I could not actually see what speed we were travelling, as the speedometer was broken, but the tachometer indicated that the bike was going almost flat-out at times, so it must have been pretty fast. It certainly felt it, with the cold moist air cutting through every layer of clothing on me.

We deviated around traffic lights, dodged slow vehicles, and hooned around the wet corners almost as though we were in a race. My rider knew nothing about my time limits so I am unsure as to why we were travelling at such a pace, but settled back (as much as one can when being pulled backwards constantly by a backpack) and enjoyed the ride. As we passed through the Brazilian border control without stopping, I was very thankful that all of my processing had been completed when I left Brazil earlier to visit Ciudad del Este.

Back in Argentina
The Argentine border accepted me once again, inspite of the mounting number of Argentine stamps that I am now collecting in my passport, and we headed onward into Argentina. I was now home, or as close as one can come to home when you don’t really have one. Having lived in Argentina for a while now, it is a comforting feeling to return to this country once again – a place where I now understand the culture, know many of the laws, and can speak the language.

After dropping me off at the bus station, my rider told me that he often makes journeys to here from Ciudad del Este throughout the week and quite enjoys doing so. Once again he reminds me that our low price was only because he can see that I am a “good bloke”. We shake hands and he takes off. Behind me is the Puerto Iguazu bus station. I am back in Argentina again.

I am home.

Rain.
Lots of rain.
Rain without stop.

Water pouring off roofs,
running over pathways,
filling up every hole.

Wind howling through streets,
bending umbrellas inside out,
spraying water everywhere.

Traffic backed up everywhere,
splashing through puddles,
wetting passers-by.

Wet.
Very wet.
Shoes, pants, shirt, bag.
Splashed by cars, blown by wind, leaking umbrella.
Temperature warm.
Not so cold.
Just wet.

Rio.
Another face.