Sometimes the Bus Whispers Love Poems in My Ear

Dear Municipal Bus of Porto Alegre,

I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate that you always have poems on your windows. Not all the windows of course. You still leave ample room to see the landscape whooshing past. But, I like that you give me just a little something to read while I'm hanging on through all your funky twists and turns and jerky braking, waiting for my stop to come. And not just one poem repeated, but dozens of different ones.

Book are expensive here. In all sincerity, my beloved Portuguese translation of Twilight (Crepúsculo) cost me about $22 US dollars, if not more. So, it makes me all the more enthusiastic about the free bus poetry that you provide us passengers.

This one, "Passenger Love" by Alcir Nicolau Pereira roughly translates to:

The bus braked at the stop
And she came on board
She stayed close by sitting
And won over my heart

Lovely and beautiful passenger
Talented young woman with a pretty complexion
I tried out gallant prose
Leaving her serious, very distressed

Startled and very nervous
She warned: please, do not persist
Speaking softly and timidly:
My husband is the bus driver

So thanks again Bus, and I look forward to the next poem.

Sincerely,
Libélula Azul

P.S. Perhaps you can throw in a poem about vampires or werewolves to satisfy my high literary taste??

Like Letter, No. 2

Dear Municipal Bus of Porto Alegre,

I didn't expect to be writing you again so soon. However, after yesterday's events, I am certain that you read my first letter and were determined to test exactly how much I liked you. Or at least how much I was willing to let go and enjoy the ride.

It all started when I rushed out of the Cesmapa office located way out there practically in the countryside, and I saw you driving away. "Run!" said the girls at the bus stop and so run I did, crossing the street, past folks enjoying the afternoon as they sat in chairs outside the convenience store.

Unfortunately, I'm no Forrest Gump and away you drove around the pretty sunlit corner leaving me panting in the distance. The folks looked at me from their chairs with bemused expressions as I walked past them again, a block back to the bus stop.

I sighed and laughed. You wouldn't be coming by again for another hour. I was going to miss my appointment.  But what could I do? I didn't know. I couldn't afford a taxi that's for sure.

I grinned sheepishly at the girls as another one of you pulled up. "This one's going to the center too," they said, "...eventually." They drew maps with their fingers of all the twists and turns you would take before you even started heading where I needed to go, which was already good 30-40 minute ride to begin with.

I was a little concerned about this, seeing as I needed to be at a meeting at the university in exactly one hour and 15 minutes. I asked your driver how long he estimated this ride might take. "Don't worry," he said, "In a bit I can drop you off at a bus stop that will have other buses passing through going straight to the center."

"Ok" I said and laughed at my silly situation as I gave my money to the clerk. Well, it wasn't that big of a deal, really. Hadn't I always said that I wanted to have the time to get on random buses and get tours of parts of the city I'd never seen before? True, I had. You must have read my mind and wanted to give me this gift. Ha, or at least that's what you're saying now.

And for a half hour it was lovely. Really, I mean it. We were rattling down red dirt roads with little shacks and green trees. It was hard to remember that I had woken up that morning in a city because I certainly wasn't in one now. As those girls had illustrated quite correctly, our path was not a straight line. The bus even had to back up several times to get out of the roads it had gone down.

Eventually, after twists and turns and a return to paved roads, your driver stopped and walked off you  with me, telling me that from here I could catch a bus downtown and it would be much quicker this way. He brought me to a man in uniform with a clipboard listing all the buses and the minute they'd arrive, who nodded in agreement that this was the place for me to be if I wanted to get where I wanted to go.

This bus stop stood in the median of a gray stone road, open to incoming and outgoing traffic. I couldn't see far because of all the foliage and had no idea what this road led to. It looked like a grand colonial style building off there in the distance. Nearby, a man was selling grilled meat under tent. Another man with no legs, in a wheel chair, with a pile of dried herbs next to him. People were everywhere. On the sides of the road. In the median. Some looked like they were just there for the entertainment and might not actually be going anywhere.

An older woman asked many questions of a little girl, her parents standing nearby but not participating, practically ignoring the older woman. Stray dogs wandered amongst the people. Sometimes barking at each other, then running off together. People kept inquiring about buses with the man with the clipboard. "It'll be here in 3 minutes," he'd reply in a friendly tone. Generally, he was close to right. There were just so many of us on this covered platform and we all seemed a bit odd.  I felt as though at any moment I might discover that I'd just walked on the set of a surreal play.

Eventually (leaving me only 30 minutes to get to my appointment) another one of you pulled up at the stop. The man with the clipboard, pointed at you and told me that you were the one for me. And on I went. I sat through this ride intermittently recognizing where I was. But I also started to wonder where exactly in the center of the city you might leave me. As you know, downtown Porto Alegre isn't that small. I might have to take a cab. And I didn't have a phone number for the woman I was meeting. I had no idea if I'd arrive on time.

I was a little nervous but also just amused. Staring out the window. Staring at my watch. Crossing my fingers as we got closer to the center that you would go down roads that I knew. And you did! I have to like you for this, don't I? You didn't have to be so nice to me. But you took me right to the bus stop I needed to get to and you let me off with five minutes to get to my appointment. I briskly walked to the department, jumped in the elevator and strolled into the 6th floor office at precisely 6:00 PM.

Wow. Was I cool or what? Yeah, yeah, I know that it's really due to you, testing me and all that to see if I really trusted you. Well, I did trust you. I mean, what choice did I have?

But the best part of all of this was that when I opened that door to the office, my colleagues looked up at me. Then they looked up at the clock. Then they laughed and said, "My God you're just like the British. Look at you walking in here exactly on time. To the minute!"

I looked at them and said, "You have no idea!" And then told them all about my adventures with you.

I appreciate that you took it easy on me today during my four bus rides. That was compassionate of you. Though -- and please don't take this as a sign to increase the rate of adventures I have while on you -- yesterday was fun.

Sincerely,
Libélula Azul

A Like Letter

Dear Municipal Bus of Porto Alegre,

Have I told you that I've grown to like you of late? It's not quite love, but it's definitely like. I'm sure you didn't notice, but in the beginning you really intimidated me. I knew you'd take me for a ride and I wasn't certain that I'd like that ride. I was especially nervous about where it would leave me. I guess I've still got some control issues going on, you know. I'm not always so good at enjoying the journey because I keep thinking, "If I don't know what it looks like where I'm going, how on earth will I know when I get there?" It's hard to let go and just enjoy the ride.

And I guess that it's it really. We've spent so much time together by this point, at least a couple times a day, that I've grown more accustomed to you. I've been able to let down my guard a little. I actually enjoy standing there on brisk weekday mornings, carrying a heavy bag over my shoulder, waiting for you to arrive, wearing my glasses, of course, so that I can actually see you when you do arrive and flag you down so that you'll stop for me.

Of course I've already got my fare ready, waiting patiently in the side pocket of my bag or in my jeans. I know in advance to hold onto something so I don't fall when the bus driver takes off with a jolt while I'm waiting to pay the clerk located further inside. I know to hold my bag up so I can squeeze through the turnstile without feeling like a puzzle piece that doesn't fit.

Then I must squeeze through people in search of a seat, preferably close to the exit so it'll be quicker to get off later. Sometimes I have to stand and hold on to something and try prevent my body from swaying too much with the rhythm of the bus. If I let go, I'll fall into people and chairs. It feels like I'm pretending to surf. But if I can manage to snag a seat, I will.

Then I just get to watch and be. I don't read. I don't take photos obsessively with my camera. I don't even glance at my wristwatch that much. I'm just there and I realize that you give me this wonderful period of time just to meditate, space out, watch, exist. I look at the different people on the bus and hear them chatting and hear the music coming from teenagers' cell phones, but I'm not really listening. It's all part of the noise of the bus combined with rattles and squeaks, doors opening and doors closing. I watch the streets flow past, the numbers on buildings, words on stores, tagging and graffiti on every available space, people and colors. And I enjoy that everything looks interesting to me. Even if I've watched it through your windows a million times before, there's always something new to see.

Eventually, even if I've never been there before, I begin to realize that my stop is getting close. I begin to prepare and think about getting off. If I've asked the clerk to advise me when I get to a certain location, I start looking towards him (rarely her). He'll make eye contact with me and nod or sometimes give me a thumbs up. And I'll know it's time to get out of my seat, to squeeze through the crowd to the exit. This is really comforting to me.

I like anticipating the stop, waiting for the doors to open slowly. I like that freeing feeling of jumping out onto the pavement of the bus stop and then having to orient myself. I feel like I've just accomplished something, been somewhere, stilled my mind. I also feel good just to be on my feet, walking again.

And so Bus, this is my like letter to you. I still like you even though I wish you were more affordable for all the citizens of your city. I do also wish that one of your drivers, after picking me up from a bus stop in a part of town that I didn't know and seeing that I didn't really know where I was, hadn't tried to pick me up (ummm, not cool). But, I get it, no one's perfect and there's always room for improvement. I can honestly say that you are the first municipal bus that I have ever felt this comfortable with, that I have ever grown to enjoy this much. And for that I say thank you.

Sincerely,
Libélula Azul

Last Day in the Iguaçu National Park

We had an evening flight back to Porto Alegre from Foz do Iguaçu and we were determined to make the most of the day. We packed our bags, checked out of the hotel, caught a bus to the Parque Nacional, stuffed our luggage in a locker and set out to enjoy the sunny day

The bus system, by the way, is easy to use. For those on a budget, I'd highly recommend it. R$2.20 per person versus a cab ride that's going to run upwards of R$30 to get from the downtown to the waterfalls. For those not on a budget, the cabbies are pretty nice guys and often willing to make deals instead of letting the meter run.

In the park, we opted for a package that began with a 9 kilometer bike ride through the rain forest.



The others on the tour were a local tour guide taking two neighbor friends to see the park. One of them had never ridden on a bike before. Much hilarity ensued. Usually too far behind us for us to actually see it. Though we could hear the laughing.

Our tour guide (who'd also been our tour guide on the boating trip we'd taken) would stop every once and a while to give these sweetly goofy guys a chance to catch up.



He also liked to point out the wildlife. Such as excitedly picking up this little dude and trying to take a picture with his camera phone at the same time.

Looks cute doesn't he? Or at least like some unassuming funky colored moss. Well, as we learned, do not mess with him. Just don't do it. Don't even let him brush against your skin. Because if you do you will have 48 hours to get to the hospital, or...you will die. No kidding.

Perhaps, it's not surprising that the rest of us weren't quite as eager to get close to the little dude.

Then, we saw another sight. A poor snake that had been run over (accidentally? not sure...) by a jeep. Our tour guide was really upset about this, especially at whoever was responsible, but determined that the poor guy was going to survive and shooed him back into the underbrush.



Then, I became a wuss.

I'm not sure how far we'd biked, but eventually the tour guide called the jeep to come pick up the other guys because they were having too much fun to keep up. We picked up our pace. The path got muddier. And a few kilometers in I was exhausted, breathing a bit heavy and dripping with sweat.

And I kept envisioning my bicycle tire slipping in the mud and bringing me down with it.  The jeep puttered behind us for a while and eventually I waved a white flag saying, "You know, what the heck, we might as well get a ride the rest of the way." I hated giving up, but the tour guide seemed totally fine with the change of plans.

Upon later reflection, there's a possibility that the origins of my pneumonia lay somewhere in this last day at the waterfalls. Truth be told outside of a tremendous amount of walking in Porto Alegre, I hadn't been doing much exercise in Brazil prior to this bike ride. And considering the deadly caterpillars, who knows what I could have unknowingly subjected myself too in a slightly weaker state. Hmmm...

We trucked along until we reached the lake. Then we climbed in a boat and glided along the water checking out the scenery including baby alligators and toucans.



Then, just to add a little more exercise in, we jumped into inflatable kayaks and bumbled through the last kilometer on our own. The three guys shared a kayak and kept doing 360s, water from their oars splashing everywhere. They made Samosa and myself appear positively full of athletic prowess even though we could barely kayak in a straight line. We all couldn't stop laughing. The tour guide and the boat driver were also pretty amused as they observed from a distance.



Later we caught the second to last Parque Nacional bus back to the entrance.



Even the gift shop was closed. Everything was quiet and sunlit. We retrieved our bags and changed into dry clothes for the flight. The beautiful red mud of the state was all over our legs and feet and shoes.



We waited for the local bus with park employees and got off at the airport stop.



Time to go home to Porto Alegre.

Coindence on Bus No. 348

Bus!
Originally uploaded by Blue Dragonfly Girl

Yesterday, my supervisor was going to pick me up and give me a ride to the place where part of my internship will be spent. But, things worked out differently. Instead she gave me directions over the phone about how to take the bus.

I was standing on the street corner, so I had to try to hear her despite the rumbling of trucks passing by. I repeated the information back to her a few times just to make sure I understood. I had the name of the bus. The name of the street, the # of the building and the cross-street.

So, I waited. And it was hot. Yes, it's still hot here. Really hot. Like Robbin-Williams-talking-about-how-hot-it-is-in-Good-Morning-Vietnam hot.

I have some fear to overcome regarding buses: Essentially, when you don't know where you're going, how do you know when you've arrived?

This makes me nervous. And so if I can avoid taking buses, and I'm no different in the United States, I will. 

Also, bus stops here do not list the numbers or names of the buses that come through them. Neither do they announce stops.

So, it's a challenge. One that I do want to overcome. It's a matter of personal pride. I also would love to get to the point where I can pretend it's always been easy-as-pie get around on buses in Porto Alegre, especially since this is apparently one of the best bus systems in Brazil.

I found a bus map a few weeks ago and initially I was thrilled. But then I realized that I still couldn't understand it. Ha! Today over breakfast I brought it out again just to take a look. I was mesmerized but not comprehending much.

One of the students at the hostel, from southern India, saw me in the kitchen staring at the map. He asked me if I was American. He told me he thought I wasn't Brazilian, something in my face gave it away...and also the fact that I had unfolded a huge map of the bus system onto the breakfast table. That too had clued him in, he told me.

So, there I was waiting for my bus to come in. I desperately wanted to take out my bus map even though I knew it won't help me and clearly would make it really obvious that I wasn't from around these parts. [Side note: Part of the advice I get it about city-life here is to try and look like I'm not foreign when traipsing around the streets of Porto Alegre. That and don't wear gold jewelry or stuff that looks expensive. And always carry my bag over the opposite shoulder and in front of me.]

I didn't know the bus number at the time, just the name, Bento Gonçalves. It's also a street name. So there were lots of other buses passing through that listed Bento Gonçalves as one of their stops. I kept getting tempted but I held out until this specific one arrived.

Luckily, it did. When I got on I asked the bus driver if he was going by this certain cross street. He directed me to the cashier, who I paid R$2.30 and asked to please advise me when the cross-street was reached. He nodded looking somewhat non-committal.

So, after some twists and turns on different roads, we starting driving down Bento Gonçalves, As I understood it, the building I was looking for would be on this street. I was pretty excited to see that many of the buildings were clearly numbered. Ha! This would be a piece of cake. I could totally do this on my own! I'd probably be getting off in about 20 blocks exactly.

And indeed, right about the time that I stood up, thinking I should get off the bus, the cashier advised me that this was my stop.

I was a few blocks past where the building should be and so I backtracked. Only to discover that at the number I was given was a mechanic's shop. No building on either side or nearby that looked like it might work with youth.

Hmmm....

Then, I realized that the building I was going to must actually be on the cross street and that would correspond to the number my supervisor gave me.

And so it was.

It was a complete coincidence that the street numbers on Bento Gonçalves were so similar to the cross-street.

In the end, I certainly needed the help that the bus cashier gave me. Amazing that it worked out so well. However, without that lucky coincidence and the assistance of the cashier, who knows where I could have ended up, sweating under the hot Porto Alegre sun?

But, point is, I made it. And I later made it home, on a different bus, that had a different bus stop, but at least it was one where I could orient myself and get to where I needed to go.

So perhaps, I shouldn't be so scared of these buses. They'll always get me somewhere and slowly I'm learning to recognize when that somewhere is close to where I live or want to go.