With yesterday's torrential rain, and more rain forecast ahead, today looked like the day to get to Porto de Galinhas (PdG or simply "Porto" to the locals), a beach town about an hour South.
Long story short, we catch a taxi to the aeroporto, where the 195 bus to PdG allegedly stops.
While waiting, my son and I help two men lift a motorcycle into the back of a pickup. It takes all of 30 seconds. The driver is extremely grateful. He thanks me repeatedly, points to his heart and says, "You are beauty."
I point to my son and say, "Meu fijho es fuerte," having no idea if I communicated, "My son is strong."
He points to my wife and daughter on the sidewalk and repeats, "Your family is beautiful."
Yes, I tell him, like Lake Wobegon, in our family, all the men are strong, all the women are good looking, and all the children are above average. It is lost in translation.
He thanks me again. We wait for the bus. Is it R$10 per person? Where do we get tickets?
We buy them on the bus, I'm told, but the bus is probably "occupado." The hand-gesture for "occupado" in Brazil is the one an American would make to indicate someone talking a lot, or a duck quacking. I learned this when I tried to catch seventeen taxis unsuccessfully yesterday. I will never be able to un-see that hand gesture.
The bus goes past without stopping, since it is occupado (full). What? They come only once an hour? I don't want to wait another hour.
We consider taking a taxi to PdG instead. R$120 for four people. Another party has two people and is looking for two more to split the cost. We are four ourselves, and my kids didn't bring cash.
We are not sure if we even have enough currency to get to PdG and back if we spend R$120 one way (I've heard of others paying R$150 - R$200 each way, so R$120 isn't a bad deal. Still, taxi rides add up fast in Recife.).
The man who has been securing his motorcycle to his truck with rope for the last 15 minutes motions over to me again. He is now in the truck's cab, and his wife sits to his right. He says again how thankful he is, nearly with tears in his eyes. He says, "Welcome to Brazil," in English. He motions to his wife and says, "This is my husband." I smile and laugh, and we shake hands, and off he drives.
Karma and the odds must have been ever in my favor. Another bus sporting "195 Porto de Gal..." pulls up. We board and find seats. It is R$11 per person. I think the driver and his caixa are skimming the extra R$1 for themselves.
The bus is a lot like DisneyWorld, an hour of waiting (in traffic) followed by Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, careening down the highway. We detour at a roadside bus stop. Someone boards the bus to sell agua and Ruffles. Later, we sidetrack to Speed-bumps-ville. It is 4 square blocks with 50 speed-bumps. Not bad, only R$0.22 per speed bump.
The ride is well past 90 minutes. Rain is coming through the semi-closable window. We wind past scene after scene that can only be described as "Brazil." Sugar cane fields, light industrial, favelas.
Michele has the look she gets on airplanes, declaring, "We're going to die."
At one point the bus screeches and turns sharply to the left. I see a motorcycle about 3 inches from my window, which the bus has swerved to avoid. Say what you will about Brazilians...these dudes know how to drive!
We finally reach PdG, and the weather has cleared. We find an American-style hotel and ask directions. We put on sunscreen in their lobby and rest. The ride has taken two hours. Later, I'll realize that taxis take a separate toll road, and the ride is only 45 minutes. I'll also realize why it took us only two hours despite bumper-to-bumper traffic for much of the way.
PdG is a nice, friendly beach town. I find a cambio offering a lousy rate, but I need some Reais in case we take a taxi home. We walk past t-shirt shops, eat lunch overlooking the water, and spend a few hours playing in the waves and walking on the beach. There are a lot of Americans but not so many that it ruins the mood. The weather is perfect, despite a rainshower during lunch. There are quaint boats bobbing in the water. It is almost dusk (get's dark early here in the winter) and time to arrange a ride home.
We contemplate haggling with a cab driver while eating ice cream. We prepare some Portuguese in Google Traduz. We've conserved our cash by using Visa. Do we want to take a taxi home or try to find the bus and hope it is not occupado?
Just then, bus 195 pulls up at the curb. We take it as a sign and board.
Again, it is R$11 per person, but this time, the caixa has my kids squeeze past the turnstile without registering another passenger. Seems she is no longer content to skim R$1 per passenger and wants the full R$11 when she can manage it.
The way home is like Back to the Future. We skip the detour to Bumpy-town but encounter traffic on the way back. Luckily, we don't need roads; our bus is off-roading it. How many lanes are there on a two-lane Brazilian highway, you ask? Five: Two on the pavement, plus the shoulder, plus two more off-road in the rutted mud to the right of the actual road.
The bus jumps and swings wildly from side to side, mere inches from a tractor trailer. I am sure we are going to hit side-view mirrors but put my faith Ayrton Senna, who is apparently behind the wheel.
When we occasionally venture onto the actual road, the driver seems unfamiliar with the brakes, which Michele doesn't trust anyway. It is like we are in Speed with Sandra Bullock driving while Keanu tries to disarm the bomb.
Michele is now sure we are going to die, no longer looking to me for confirmation.
I tell her to hold on, she says, "What is the point of that? When the bus tips over, I'll be face down in the water anyway!" She makes a strong case.
We periodically swerve from the off-road lanes onto the shoulder to avoid oncoming bridge pilings. I now realize that we spent the majority of the morning drive on the shoulder, passing trucks and other buses that stood still for hours.
I close my eyes and sleep. Michele does not.
We arrive back at the aeroporto, and de-bus to stretch our legs. The trip home has been another 2 hours, and we wonder if the cab might have been worth an extra R$100.
We EasyTaxi it home. No way I'm spending R$27 at the taxi stand when EasyTaxi is half that! All a drop in the bucket when you figure the actual cost of the trip...but I digress.
We get home. Michele is headachy. The kids and I walk to a nearby mall and find a nice meal at a great restaurant. We get shrimp-n-massa and three negra beers to bring home to Michele. Gotta love a country where you can bring home bottled beers from a hestaurante
Matrimonial balance is again restored. The debt repaid.
Boa noite!
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