I had set my watch alarm for 7am on Sunday morning so I could pack up my bags and get to the trekker's office by 8. It seemed that each week my bag managed to get bigger even tough I was constantly throwing stuff out. Instead of checking out immediately, I left my bag behind in the room and walked across the street to the bus station where the trekking office was. Still closed. Friggin' Latino time.
The manager I met the night before in the cyber cafe eventually came jogging around the corner towards me. There was a change of plans. I seemed like a nice guy who was looking for something special, he said. He informed me that the tour was still on for that day if I wanted to go. But I would be staying at a farm he has recently decided to stop using for his customers because of the eco damage they do. Also, the group going was 16 people big and a "party group" that just got in that morning. Again, if this was my bag, I could get on the bus at 10am.
But he felt I wanted something a little more relaxed, a bit more focused. He offered to take me to another, rival company in the bus station that used a different farm - one that he wanted to start using in the future. He had spent some time in the U.S. and had a special love for the people from there. And he wanted to make sure I would be happy with my trip. Even if it meant handing me off to another company.
I didn't know what to make of the situation so I just agreed to meet with the other company. Apparently the rival company didn't know what to make of the situation either. They looked a bit skeptical when he ushered me into their office and explained what he was doing. They thanked him, as did I, as he turned to go - and he said, again, he wanted to make sure I was happy with my experience and that he just didn't think his trip was going to be perfect enough. Not now. Okay.
So I talked with the woman in the new office. She was still a little weirded out by this rival company bringing her business and said so. But she set up a trip for me at the same cost. After explaining the difference between the two farms I did feel better about where I was going. And so I paid her and she walked me upstairs to buy the bus tickets. Seems I would be taking a regular bus out into the Pantanal and someone would pick me up at a stop and drive me the rest of the way in. Whatever.
This bus didn't leave until 1pm so I had the rest of the morning to kill. I went back to check out of my hostel and brought my bag back to the new company's office. With four hours to go, I decided to walk to the city center and see what else Campo Grande had to offer. If was like any mid-sized city. But most everything was closed this time on a Sunday morning. So I just strolled. I checked out the parks & plazas. I also tried to use an ATM other than the one by the bus station that was charging me $4 fees with each pop, with no luck. Seemed no bank ATM would accept my card. I noticed a McDonalds and was surprised to see that, unlike every other city I had been in, this McDonalds was completely empty. But one street up I found where all the city's inhabitants go on Sunday morning: a huge indoor market full of vendors. I killed an hour and a half checking out the various stalls and what they had to offer; smiling and saying non each time someone said something to me in Portuguese.
At 12:30 I was back at the bus station collecting my bags and being shoved towards the buses by the woman who sold me my trip. Apparently buses in Brazil leave on time here. Another thing about the buses here: they were immaculate, with large reclining seats. I was going to enjoy this four hour ride. I turned my iPod on and wrote in my journal until I nodded off for the last three hours.
I woke a few minutes before the bus stopped in the middle of nowhere and the driver came back and shouted at me that we were at my stop. Glad some one knew. I grabbed my bag and hurried off. It was drizzling. And I really was in the middle of nowhere. There were two small shacks with wall to wall screening. I lugged my pack up to a porch and waited for my ride. Then I realized why the shacks were lined with screening: mosquitoes covered me. As I smacked them away, I dug around in my pack for my DEET. I poured it over every inch of exposed skin. It helped a little. I wondered how long it was going to take for my ride to arrive.
A truck pulled up 15 minutes and 150 bites later. I ran towards it and threw my bag (and the 50 mosquitoes still attached to it) into the back seat before jumping in myself. There was a man of about 40 with his two young daughters up front. He said something in Portuguese, I shrugged my shoulders. He said what I think was the name of the farm, I said "sim" (the third word I learned in Portuguese). He said something else and off we went; the four of us smacking different areas of the cab killing each of the mosquitoes I let in.
The trip to the farm was down a very bumpy dirt road. It took an hour to get there and on the way I learned the man spoke a little Spanish. I tried to start a conversation in Spanish but it didn't go very far. Mostly we just rode in silence.
When we arrived, the older of the little girls showed me towards the main building. I met the man's wife and fortunately she spoke a bit more Spanish. At least enough to tell me where I was sleeping and how to ask for a beer. I dropped of my bags and asked for that beer and met one of the guests at the farm: Mario - a Brazilian who spoke fluent English. Mario would be my savior for the rest of the evening.
To see pics of my time in Brazil, follow this link:
http://flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603948681054/
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment