A decade or more ago, at Iguassu Falls.
32 hours on a bus, another language, and another challenge
The following morning I woke up early – there were a lot of things to do before the next leg of my trip, not the least of which was packing my bags, but more importantly to complete a purchase. On the previous day at the book and record store I had seen a wonderful collection of music conducted by Hungarian-born conductor Sir Georg Solti. I had sent a picture of this box-set to a friend in Bangkok who sent immediate word back that I was to ‘snatch it’ as quickly as I could because it was a ‘magnificent collection’. Never, ever, doubt the word of people who can name a conductor, orchestra, year of performance, and composer, after hearing only 15 seconds of a piece of classical music – I made my way back to the store, heart pumping, hoping that someone else had not been quicker than I, and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the box still in its place on the carousel on the third floor. I snagged it, and clutched it in my hands as though I had a death-grip on it. I carried it to the cash register and did not lose sight of the set until I had it well and safe in my locked backpack an hour later. With all that running around it was getting too close to the time of departure of my bus for my next destination; I had to grab a taxi instead of the subway, and made my way back to the bus station where I had arrived a few days earlier.
Solti conducting Bartok – a prized possession
Midnight at the border
This was to be the longest bus ride I would take on this trip – there are undoubtedly longer trips possible in Canada and the USA, but they are simply unaffordable and I would have to mortgage a house to get enough money to travel by bus for the equivalent of the 32 hours it would take me to go from Buenos Aires in Argentina to Curitiba in Brazil – remember I talked about bus schedules and how to add time onto the officially published schedule? I had thought that we would pass through Uruguay to make the trip a bit shorter, but that was not to be the case, we traveled north – west, around the western border of Uruguay, and made it to the Brazilian border sometime around midnight. Already 12 hours on the road, this was not even half-way to the final destination, and I was about to be reminded of the great difference between Spanish (which I had learned enough of over the past 6 weeks to feel relatively comfortable) and Portuguese; whenever I tried to say anything even remotely coherent I simply could not get my mind to function properly, and out came a jumble of Thai, Dutch, German, Spanish, English, French and whatever else my brain had absorbed as a language during its existence. I stood outside the border post for a while, waiting for the rest of the passengers on my bus to have their passports stamped and officially allowed to enter Brazil. I could hear conversations going on, but nothing that I could understand. By 1 am we were back on the bus, this time heading to Porto Alegre on the coast, where I would have to change buses to make my way to Curitiba via Florianopolis. At the 24-hour mark I was barely coherent and I did well to get on the connecting bus. At 30 hours I was simply happy that I wouldn’t have to change buses, only find a rest room and a bottle of water. By the time the trip was over, I had spent roughly 34 hours on buses and contorted my body into a thousand different forms to find even a modicum of comfort – I was extremely happy for the space of the back seat of the cab that eventually took me to the home of friends. I arrived at a most fortuitous time, just as dinner was being prepared, and soon the wonderful atmosphere, friendly faces and conversation, complete with a glass of wine made me somewhat forget the past day and a half of travel. Only a scant 30 minutes after dinner I begged to be allowed to shower and go to bed, I could barely walk (not because of the wine) and soon sank into oblivion for a solid 10 hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Sunday market, relaxing in the sun in Curitiba, Brazil
Weekend market and Jazz Night
As with Buenos Aires, I had been in Brazil before, on two separate occasions, and it was on those two previous occasions that I had already visited one of the biggest attractions on the continent, the Iguassu Falls, and so I had opted to skip the trip to the falls this time. The first trip to the falls had been in the early 90’s after completing the production trip in Buenos Aires; I had tacked on a five-day holiday to visit family in Brazil and explore some of the region. On the second trip roughly a decade after the first, I spent time in Iguassu, visiting the hydro-electric power plant, the falls, and a bird park, before moving on to Sao Paolo, Rio and Bahia. On this most recent trip, I simply wanted to explore Curitiba; a train journey to Morretes, a town famous for the traditional Barreado meal; and some local parks and attractions. The following day started perfectly, with sunshine, a great cup of coffee, and an opportunity to explore the old center of the city, where the Sunday market was in full swing. We surveyed the various booths, explored the narrow side alleys, perused works of art, and enjoyed a wonderful lunch along the way. The evening saw us back in the area again to attend a jazz concert, a perfect ending to a great day and a great week. The following would bring more adventures, but for that evening, I enjoyed the music in the company of great friends.
