At 12:30pm, I boarded the 10am bus for Paratay with my ticket for 4pm.
What I hadn’t realized when I arrived at the bus station is that the incessant rain throughout the previous night was unusual. Normally Brazilian summers at the coast include an afternoon thunderstorm, which provides a temporary relief from the hot humid days. I remember being surprised that every time I woke in the night I could hear heavy rain outside. By morning, the runoff from the rain had flooded the northern end of the city, where the bus terminal was located.
I got out of bed around 6 that morning so that I had plenty of time to get to my 8am bus. There was an earlier one, but I decided I wanted to take the time to enjoy my tea and oatmeal before rushing off to a 7 hour bus trip. I checked out of the hostel and headed up the first of five sets of stairs that would take me to the subway. I found it ironic to be scaling a steep hill in order to catch an underground train, but the ascent was required in order to get the subway station which was located on the other side of the hill.
I made the transfer to the second subway easily enough having taken this same route the previous day to check out the festivities associated with Carnaval. Transit days can be stressful for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is because I am most vulnerable to theft. When I’m staying in a hostel, I usually lock most of my valuables (passport, cash, and ATM card) in the locker and only carry a small amount of cash and a credit card while exploring a place.
I like to keep my valuables separated, reducing the possibility of losing everything at once. On a transit day, however, I have to keep everything with me so if I am robbed, I risk losing everyting. To mitigate this risk somewhat, I can use the hidden pocket in the top of my hat. That way even if someone takes my bag, I still have a chance of keeping my ATM card.
I was on full alert during my subway trip, one of the places you are most vulnerable to being pick-pocketed. I’d already heard three people at the hostel tell me their phones were taken during their visit to Brazil. Stories of how smoothly it was done confirmed my fear that one moment you check your pocket to make sure everything is secure and the next moment, it’s gone.
I’ve been lucky up to now as I usually put my phone and money in the same pocket while in crowded environments, like buses and trains, and I keep my hand in my pocket the whole time with my fingers in physical contact with my valuables. Naturally this takes a bit away from the enjoyment of the trip, but I’d heard too much about Brazil’s reputation for theft.
Surprisingly, the train was not too crowded that morning so I was able to relax a bit. Perhaps it was because Brazilian’s don’t usually start work until 10am or maybe it was because they’d watched the news that morning and knew everyone would be late for work anyway. I remember thinking “it sucks to be driving” as the train crossed over a freeway of standstill traffic in both directions. What hadn’t occurred to me at the time is that the bus I was to catch was stuck somewhere in that traffic.
The station seemed unusually crowded when I arrived, and my first clue that something was amiss should have been that a woman was taking a picture of the departure hall for the buses. It did seem rather crowded, but some countries have a greater propensity for massing than queuing. Since I was still early, I grabbed a coffee and a pastry.
About 30 minutes before my scheduled departure, I headed down to the crowded departure hall and worked my way to the gate number on my ticket. About 20 minutes later, the door opened up and a gentleman made an announcement. Because he made it in Portuguese, I had no idea what was said, but several people gasped so I inferred it to be bad news.
The trouble with Portuguese is that it sounds nothing like it reads. While a Spanish speaker can make out the written word, the oral pronunciation sounds like a combination of French and Russian. You’d be surprised how much you can figure out given the context of a situation, like when you see a sign above the door with a graphic of a person exiting. Likewise, when I ask a question in a foreign language, I am generally expecting certain fixed responses.
When something unusual like a gate change happens, all bets are off. I am not prepared to understand acts of God in a foreign language. Fortunately a girl next to me was able to translate, and she told me that the man said that due to the flooding they had no idea when the bus would arrive. She added that she was there for the 7am bus, and that still hadn’t arrived.
A few minutes later, another announcement was made, and the girl said the man suggested that everyone go back to the ticket office and rebook for later departures. At first I thought to stay and wait it out, but then I judged it to be handy to take advantage of the girl’s translating skills to determine how I should proceed.
I hadn’t purchased a SIM card for Brazil so I had no way of informing my hostel or looking for one close by in case buses were cancelled for the entire day.
Despite the help of my translator at the ticket office, I was not able to get any information that would indicate the best time for me to reschedule. My translator opted for the 10pm bus since it was the last departure for that day and most likely to leave on time. I chose 4pm as I really didn’t want to arrive after midnight or subject myself to an overnight bus trip. This meant I had about 7 hours to kill, so I found a quiet spot in the station, opened my laptop and began writing another of my bus adventure stories.
A couple hours later I decided to get up and see if I could get a status update at the ticket window. I asked about the noon bus, just in case I might change to that one should it actually arrive. The agent just held out his hands and lifted his shoulders, a gesture understood internationally, so I went back to post and continued writing.
Twelve o’clock rolled around, and out of curiosity, I went to check out the departure hall. Things had been happening as the crowds were thinned out quite a bit. That told me buses had been arriving so I walked down to my gate to see what was going on. There were several people waiting outside the gate, some I recognized from earlier, but I saw a bus with its marquee displaying 10:00am Paratay so I joined a short line in front of the bus. The conductor began to count heads in the line, and he stopped at me, indicating I was the last.
As it turns out, I think they just decided to fill the arriving buses with whoever was standing ready, so I managed to hop on the bus four and a half hours after my originally scheduled departure time, but three and a half hours before my current ticketed time. This turned out to be a good thing because the adventure wasn’t yet over.
Apparently the flood waters had receded because we entered the highway with ease and departed town at full speed. At our first major stop, the driver stepped into the passenger cabin and began an announcement that included several hand gestures. In this case, I had the context of the rain storms, and was able to deduce he was proposing an alternate route. Apparently, the direct route had been blocked by a landslide.
While I understood what he communicated, I had no idea how far out of the way this detour would take us. I was able to watch on my Google maps as the bus made its way almost all the way to Rio di Janeiro before turning to head towards Parataty from the opposite direction. Prior to the turn around, I decided that perhaps Paratay wasn’t worth it given that even more rains were predicted, and I didn’t want to miss my flight to Morocco in just a few days.
We finally arrived in Paratay around 10:30, about 10 hours after we left. I’d been on the bus for such a long time that I decided to walk to the hostel instead of catching a cab. It was a delightful walk over cobblestone streets with the smell of the sea wafting in my face. The rain would let up over the next couple days, and I was able to take in this charming seaside town that was to be my favorite stop in Brazil.
