Day 5 in Brazil

on to Sao Paulo?

Hi….my name is Merryl and I’m a mother and grandmother who wants everyone to know the energetic wonder of eating living foods.

Continuing with my Brazil blog so to speak….. After sleeping in a Pousada, I woke to this view which made a nice change from concrete jungle. I lay in bed exploring google maps and any which way to the next town was very steep with heavy traffic. Of course, we were heading to the capital city. It never was going to be a farm lane.

We went down to find the breakfast that came with our stay. There was no fruit and no juice. I had a coffee and something that looked like a cheese scone. One bite and I was done. Still I wasn’t hungry even though there had been no dinner. I was concerned that I needed calories to push those pedals.

The air was already thick and hot as I loaded my bicycle at 8:00am. I felt sick in my stomach. I’m not sure if it was the heat or the thought of the kilometres ahead. Or that I was proving a mill-stone to Patrick.

He set the route on his GPS then showed me that we would be cycling 75 kilometres today. It, needless to say, warned that the route was steep with heavy traffic. I looked at him and asked, “How? I couldn’t make the 62ks to Pirai yesterday.”

“Decide then if you want to take the bus.”

We saddled up and headed out. Immediately rounding the corner onto the motorway I spotted a fruit stall. Patrick didn’t hear me shouting to stop so I carried on racing to keep up with him on the easy 10k route into Pirai.

I imagined stuffing bananas down my throat one after the other. I thought about taking a bus. And all the lessons I had learned over the past few days:

• how to read the tooting horns

• that locals love it when you make an effort to learn a few words of their language

• that I love cycling and seeing the world from a saddle - being active all day

• that I prefer the road less travelled

• and most decisively, that I valued my life more than I thought I did.

I thought about the 75 kilometres with steep incline, heavy with trucks.

I thought about the peaceful few kilometres through the countryside of the day before.

I thought about my brother’s text the previous day, “There are going to be a lot more hills to climb, trucks and taxis to avoid. If you’re not happy doing it, don’t force it.” And the closer to Sao Paulo the denser the traffic would be.

I thought about the bus as I watched Patrick asking for directions to the coach station or train station. I caught up to him after he’d passed by the Central Coach Station and was again trying to get the attention of a local.

I used what little Portuguese I had learned and called, “Com licença”. Promptly the individual would respond and come over to help - using google translate for any further discussion.

I found myself texting, “I’m looking for a lift to Rio. One person, one bicycle.”

I didn’t get any positive response to that but it had become clear to me that I couldn’t carry on holding Patrick back. Cycling on motorways was not for me.

We returned to the coach station and I bought a coach ticket to Rio instead of on to the next stop as Patrick was suggesting. Immediately the heaviness dissipated and suddenly my being was filled with energy. I charged down the street to the bike shops looking for a bike box. Patrick followed and then carried the large cardboard under his arm and cycled one handed back to the coach station.

We put the box together. Dismantled the bicycle and packed it. Waited for the coach in silence. Patrick was clearly cross about this turn of events. He loaded the box into the coach and was on his lonesome way. I was taken into the coach and kindly shown “armchair #9” where I was to sit.

My one hour trip back to Rio (don’t laugh) on the motorway in an air-conditioned coach was very pleasant compared to the hot slog in the other direction. The views of the surrounding countryside from “armchair 9” were inspiring after seeing mostly large wheels rolling rolling rolling by much too close for comfort and grey tarmac.

Along the way we stopped to collect passengers from another coach broken down on its way to Rio. A lovely lady sat beside me anxious about the time. I asked her if she was missing a flight or important appointment. That opened up a conversation that took us into Rio and the coach station.

Ana exchanged numbers with me in case I would need her help before I left. She negotiated a good deal with a porter to take the bike box and luggage to a taxi and then explained to the taxi driver where he was to take me. All this in spite of being anxious about her unexpected late arrival in Rio. And in spite of the state of me: grubby, sweaty and in attire, while appropriate for cycling, was not what one would wear to Rio on a coach. This lady was an angel from above and she restored my faith in the kindness and friendliness of Brazilians.

I trundled around the departures area of RIOgaleão International Airport, backwards and forwards, trying to decide what to do when purchasing a ticket with a bicycle to load. My cumbersome trolley-load disallowing toilet visits thus I didn’t drink anything. I had the bike box covered. Then as I was dilly dadding around wondering where to get help I was approached by a jolly chap with arms wide open, greeting me as though I were a long lost friend and asking if my box was a bicycle or a painting. He took control of it, having me fill in labels for that and the one pannier that was to check in, too. Then he swished me to the check-in counter and another angel from heaven.

I quickly and desperately explained that I didn’t yet have a ticket booked. No problem, she would help. I explained, again in desperation that I needed to do a cheap online booking. Again, I was told not to worry and before I could blink again I was rushing through security to the boarding gates to catch a British Airways flight. Not only did the kind lady charge and take payment for the bike box instead of sending me to the oversized luggage counter as is usual, but she also waived the fee for the one pannier that was checked in.

Reaching the departure gate with a few minutes to spare, I could finally go to the bathroom. It felt so good to finally wash my hands and face and brush my hair! Not to mention, finally being able to empty my bladder. Even as I did that I heard an announcement and my name being called. The jolly chap from the departures area was worried that I hadn’t yet paid the oversized luggage fee. Yes, I displayed the proof on my invoice. I could finally relax.

Not many minutes later Priority passengers were called to board. To my delight any passenger over sixty years of age was also called through Priority boarding. Mr Jolly was the one to whom I had to display my passport. As I did so I sang the line, “if you don’t know me by now….” from the song by Simply Red. He laughed and sang me his own earworm that materialised from the moment he saw me struggling with my big box in the airport.

I queued to board along with the other mature passengers. A couple just in front of me were having a right happy time talking and laughing along with the very smiley man behind me. Although I had no idea what they were saying in Portuguese, the laughter was contagious and I found myself joining in. It felt so good. Until suddenly the conversation changed and I realised I was now the subject. The look of consternation on my face immediately prompted the lady ahead to explain to me in English that her father (big gentleman responsible, in the most part, for all the jocularity) had asked the smiling gentleman behind me if I was his wife and he had responded, “No, I have only just had the pleasure of making her acquaintance.”

Once we had all found our various seats in coach we had all waved to one another wishing safe travels and sweet dreams. Brazilians do have a way of making you feel like a friend instantly!

That is how I found myself on a British Airways flight direct to London at the end of the fifth day of my huge South American adventure. That is when I sat at the window seat with space beside me and thought about what had prompted this sudden turn around and how I felt about quitting.

I’ll share that in my next newsletter… meanwhile please see the postscript for an urgent announcement.

Live well and find the happy,

Merryl @ GreenSmoothie.com

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No one will ever be able to link them back to the jab.

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