Día Cero

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Day Zero

I woke up yesterday this morning.

The days you leave a place for good always seem incredibly long. Rush. Goodbyes. Pack. Finalize. By early afternoon, events from that very morning already feel like they took place three days before. And by evening, the idea of compiling the whole day into one cohesive picture -- 'today' -- is an exercise in futility.

But in this case, today really does involve multiple rotations of the planet. For some reason related to taxes, cheaper flights out of Belem leave in the middle of the night. In my case - 4am. So I woke up at 6:30am, August 21, spent the day in farewell trauma, and am now (August 22) sitting aboard Gol flight 1681 headed toward Brasilia, then Curitiba, then Foz do Igauçu. It's a big country.

Sleeping on planes is impossible. As soon as I get to 'The Foz' as it shall now be known, I'll need to stay awake long enough to find the bus to the Argentine border. Hopefully I'll have no problems getting stamped out of Brazilian immigration under whose rules I am now technically an illegal immigrant. Eventually I'll make it to the hostel in Puerto Iguazu and fall into a deep dark sleep.

Anyway, it has been and will continue to be a long day.

I'm going to be stuck in Brazilian airspace all morning. I could be spending the time doing some planning that I still have yet to finish. I wish I had internet. I wish the little plastic fold-out tray in front of me were one of those big electronic war maps you see in high-tech war movies -- you know, the ones that look like a pool table and an iPhone got a little freaky one night and had themselves a love child. I wish the four-year old kid standing backwards in the seat in front of me staring at me with expressionless, insolent eyes were a brigadier general giving a status update on my Latin American conquest. ...Maybe not Denzel Washington, but someone a bit more gruff. Rip Torn or Gene Hackman.

"Ok, General Taggart, where do we stand on Northern Ecuador?" I tap the map display and drag Ecuador into view.
"Well, sir, as you know, we've been prepared to move forward on Mindo. There is a butterfly sanctuary and it has some of the best jungle canopy ziplining in the region. However, recent Intel has revealed a small village near the border with Colombia known as Otavalo. It is renowned for its indigenous market, offering high quality textiles and handmade crafts that are just DARLING!!"
"Good work, General. Assemble your men with their fanny packs and traveler's cheques and be ready at 09:00."
"General, sweetie, stop bothering the poor gringo drifter and sit down in your seat."

No map. No general. And the mother didn't really just say that, so the kid goes on staring. I snap off a military salute and this, at least, puts a goofy grin on his chubby little face.

Touchdown

I finally get to The Foz and wander across the tarmac and into the airport in a sleep-deprived haze. I ask the omni-lingual guy behind the information desk if its possible to get a Yellow Fever vaccine in the airport. (Yes, I still need one). He said there is a medical center, but that they don't have the vaccine. I'd have to take a bus into town, get the vaccination there, and come back to the medical center at the iarport in order to get it validated as an internatinoal certificate. I can't be bothered to do all this, and catch the bus to the Argentine border. Due to the enormous number of tourists that cross this border every day, the checks are very relaxed, making it easy for me to samba my illegal ass over to Argentina without a single bribe or fine paid. Once I arrived and settled in the hostel, I walked down to the local hospital and asked about vaccinations. They have closed for the day, and won't be open until Monday morning. At this point, I'd rather just have Yellow Fever.I'll check in Salta.

Now I'm sitting on the bed in the hostel looking down at the Argentine cookies I bought for dinner. I'm too tired to eat, but Argentina ranks right up there with Italy and Austria for having the best cookies you can buy in any old convenience store. Cookies take the edge off the frustration of the vaccine business. I also found a wad of Argentine pesos in my pack from the last time I was here. Finding a chunk of money - even your own - is always a fantastic feeling. I think I'll celebrate by going to sleep for 12 hours. And tomorrow I'll get up and go sit on a bus to Salta for 23 hours.

Oh yes, this is what it's all about.

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