Riding to Rio
After visiting the Brazilian side of the falls, we needed to decide how we would spend our time in the country. Tired of constant movement and dying to train Jiu Jitsu, I voted to just head to Rio de Janeiro and get a place to stay for our last month. Thankfully, WD agreed and we bought our bus tickets for the long trip.
After battling some passengers holding giant pieces of luggage we loaded our backpacks, checked in, showed copies of our passports, and attempted to board. The bus driver blocked my entry and demanded “papers.” I showed him a copy of my passport and he handed it back to me and said it did not have “stamp.” The agent next to him explained that we were set, but he grumbled something while adjusting the belt underneath his paunch.
Here we go again… another one afflicted with mall-guard syndrome. One rule of travel is your passport is only shown to a border guard or customs offical and everyone else gets to see just a copy–even the local police. But, this trip has taught me it’s just not worth frustrating yourself arguing with the combination of arrogance and stupidity.
I grudgingly dug into my money belt in the middle of the bus terminal and handed my passport over to this dimwit. Satisfied, he grunted and walked into the bus. I walked in behind him but before he reached the driver’s seat, he turned and blocked the entry. I waited for him to step into the driver’s seat area and let me pass but he shooed me off the bus. Once we were off I pointed to the bus and asked if it was okay to board. Again he grunted and nodded… He just wasn’t going to step aside for the likes of me. It gets so tiring dealing with imbeciles.
I never again want to hear anyone whine about how they had to sit on a plane and watch 3 whole movies before they arrived at their destination. Try 24 hours of of coach bus travel complete with poor sick, screaming, pooping infant directly behind you–along with whining wife next to you reminding you how she can’t handle screaming infants.
Instead of showing movies on Brazilian buses, they feature live entertainment. We were fortunate enough to sit next to a Brazilian woman who spoke English and translated the show. For the first act the guy in front of us stood up and made an announcement to the passengers. WD and I both speak about zero Portuguese but have traveled enough now to figure this hardship story was going to lead to a collection plate going around. The nice thing about being a gringo is they always pass us by.
I asked our Brazilian friend what the story was about. She explained most people on the bus had bought goods in Paraguay and would sell them in Sao Paulo for three to five times the price, which explained all the giant luggage. Also, there is a bridge between Paraguay and Brazil that neither country will take responsibility for securing. This makes it a nice spot for drug dealers to drop their goods to be picked up by the boats below. So, the police will stop and search buses coming from the falls for drugs and the even more dangerous non-taxed clothing items.
As it turns out, the nice gentleman was taking up a collection to bribe the ever-corrupt Brazilian police force to look the other way when our bus passed through the checkpoint. Evidentially this is a routine thing since he just handed the R$200 he collected to the bus driver and we barely slowed down at the checkpoint.
Act two involved a homeless looking character blathering on and showing us his nasty feet. Again, I thought his tale of hardship would involve begging for money but he just sat down when he was finished. Strange… I asked our friend again what was said and she explained:
“This man said he had done many bad things in his life. He went to Argentina (how terrible) and had sex with mans (gee… better not vote republican). He ask god for forgiveness and walk for 3 days in the street with no shoes. He ask god for forgiveness and now he ask us for forgiveness (I forgive you–please put your sandals back on). Brazilian peoples are crazy. It’s good you travel like this and see the peoples”
I expect this type of show on the $5 chicken buses in the north of the continent, but these tickets were over $100 a piece. I guess you gotta pay the big bucks for the good entertainers.
Finally after nearly 25 hours we pulled into the bus terminal in Rio happy to leave behind the smell of poop, vomit, half eaten food, and stale body odor. Our last bus trip in South America was what some might call “the travel experience.” I’ll just say it was a hell of a ride.
