December 30, 2006 – Say Good Bye to Catalao

OK, so you can get a hangover in Brazil. Granted, they aren’t nearly as bad as they should be, but there is no such thing as a good hangover.

We packed and then waited around forever for the bus to come. From there, it seemed like forever until the bus actually left Catalao. We said goodbye to family members several times. Didn’t Einstein have a theory about time and relatives that covered this?

Todd said the bus ride back was far better than the one coming in. It was the same road. It was the same distance. It was the same lie. I was used to it by now. I didn’t care. It was air conditioned. I sipped Brazilian Vernors and napped.

When we got to Brasilia and we were waiting to board the Avoid the In-flight Meal airplane back to Rio, a Brazilian lady approached us and said, “You are not American, no?” My hung over brain threw a bearing trying to cancel out the double negatives.

Jill, who had already confessed that she doesn’t speak English, seemed to understand the Brazilian woman more quickly than the rest of us and replied, “Yes, we are not Americans.”

“You are not English or from Australia?” the Brazilian queried.

“No, we are Americans,” Jill countered, and the rest of us nodded.

“Because I understand you. I hear you from over there. I understand you are saying. I not think you were Americans,” the Brazilian continued. At this point, even Jill didn’t know where this conversation was going, so we all just returned that dumb blank smile that you give to crazy people and Hari Krishna’s who confront you in airports.

However, the Brazilian lady continued, “I have a new son-in-law. He’s American. I can not understand him speaking. He’s from, how do you say, Tennessee.”

Ahh, suddenly it became crystal clear, and I assured the Brazilian lady that even native born Americans don’t understand people from Tennessee. With her language skills vindicated, she seemed relieved and left. We boarded Avoid the In-flight Meal flight number 217. We had more beer.

We eventually landed back in Rio. The Rio airport has all the charm of the old LC Smith terminal at Detroit Metro, including many of the same smells. It took forever for our luggage to find us. But when it did, we hugged it for old time’s sake.

We mini-vanned our way to our new hotel in Copacabana and checked in. After a failed attempt at Italian food, Patty and I decided it was late enough to order room service and get into our jammies.

I woke up the next morning with a room service ketchup pack still in my hand.

Back Next