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Published: February 6th 2009
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The conductor pulled out his phone card, dialled the number on the pamphlet asked for directions and put us on the next bus going that way. It took us a moment to process what had just transpired before I remembered...this is Brazil, the land where the people you meet will either kill or rob you or become your best friend. Well, I´m still alive, have yet to be robbed and my list of best friends just keeps growing.
It had been a rather arduous trip. Brazilian buses were not up to their Argentinian or Chilean counterparts. Eighteen hours on a Marcopolo was just too much. The seats were narrow and legroom was non-existent. But the rest that the country had to offer more than made up for this inconvenience.
I had spent my last night in Puerto Iguazu, Argentina, with the Croatian expat community there. I met Marian when he came to our hostel looking to get people to sign up for some extreme sports activities. My reply of
Slovenia to his question
where are you from? was met by an incredulous
nemoj ti mene! We toured the town and hit the clubs. Cuba Libre was managed by
Floripa Tem
Floripa has it. All a half Argentinian/half Croatian and the drinks were on the house. Being around the owner and the VIPs had its merits. The girls were hungry to dance. I needed all my courage to put my tango moves into practice but my partners were gracious. Not once did they complain about my lack of dance skills.
The situation was reversed just three days later in Brazil. Taking the plunge and joining the crowds, I tried my luck at forro, a dance native to the Northeast but now popular all over the country. These girls were serious dancers. Being a foreigner had no value and the only way to prove yourself was to turn and twist her into a trance-like state. Next time, next trip, next life.
Instead I went about buying a body board. I had tried out this sport a year before when I found myself in Nicaragua on a business trip. It had occupied my thoughts ever since and I craved the excitement it brought me. Fifty Reais lighter in the pocket and with good company, I was hitting the beaches every day. Praia de Mole, Joaquina, Barra da Lagoa, this was paradise. With the beautiful girls
on the beach and the surfers and boarders catching the waves offshore, it looked and felt like a James Bond movie. Shaken, not stirred. When I took a day off from body boarding, it was to do other extreme sports like sand boarding or canyoning. The longer I stayed, the more I understood why they call Santa Catarina the magical isle.
The rich had moved into the northern part. The houses and gardens reminisced of Hollywood, the beaches of Hawaii and the people...well, it looked like Ali G was running the place and allowing only the beautiful to come here.
A scene from the movie Ali G in da House. A boarder guard is carefully screening the people entering Britain. A good looking girl comes and is allowed entry. Another good looking girl arrives and is ushered in. An ugly girl appears and is told to
go back to Slovenia! Two weeks in, though, I had grown tired of the gringos. Aussies and Brits were everywhere. They were travelling in groups, reaping the land and generally being a nuisance in this particular part of the world. Simon the Swiss and Simen the Slovenian hit the road and
travelled to an undisclosed location. Stepping off the bus it soon became apparent the locals were not accustomed to many gringos. The blond blue-eyed girl smiling at us mellow eyed at the info booth gave us directions to a camping ground and without provocation excused herself, saying she would love to give us a ride there but would not be off until much later. She bid us farewell and was looking forward to seeing us in the clubs she had recommended.
Strolling around town, I cut my finger in what came to be known as the
Gatorade incident. Looking around for a lixo in which to dispose of my bloodied tissue, I noticed a gostosa had sat herself down on a bench and was looking our way. I walked over, disposed of the rubbish and gave her a glance.
Do you speak English, she asked. Is the pope catholic?
The
awesome threesome rocked ... (undisclosed location) turning night into daytime and day into nighttime. The only thing we didn´t manage was to turn water into wine but let´s leave that for some other time. Clubbing was tiring but there is nothing like walking five kilometers after an all-nighter,
along beaches and over rocks, then pushing through the jungle to reach the main road, catching a bus and crawling into a hammock for sleep at eight o´clock in the morning. Beats getting up at six to go to work every day, that´s for sure...
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