Snakes on a Plane, Frog in the Bathroom (1)

Back to Brazil and the second event in the series:

2) Flew a total of about 25 hours to get to a ranch in Campo Grande

I lurve Samuel L Jackson and all his movies, except for that ridiculous Snakes on a Plane. Why don’t I like it? First I’d rather walk than fly. I established that fact in my post on July 17.

Secondly, I don’t understand the function of snakes in society. I don’t understand the function of cockroaches either, but this is not about them. I’d really appreciate it if a herpetologist out there would explain to me (slowly, slowly) exactly where snakes fit into the circle of life. They are just so scary. I guess what you don’t understand, you fear.

Put my two main fears together and you have Snakes on a Plane.

Luckily I didn’t experience anything close to the nightmare of seeing a snake slithering about on the flights I was on, but I did have a brush with one at the hacienda.

The flight to Sao Paulo felt like it took forever. If I remember correctly, it lasted over ten hours from London. Ten hours suspended in the air, surrounded by strangers, strapped to an uncomfortable seat with no leg room.

I had a window seat next to a young Brit, a friendly chatty guy who had backpacked across Asia and was now ready for South America. The lady on his other side, sitting by the aisle was ready for him. She looked much older, was obviously very attracted to him and flirted openly for hours.
Sometimes he would turn to me to ask questions about my trip and my country but she would always interrupt to get his attention back. By the time I got tired of talking to him and was ready to sleep she had her left hand resting on his knee while he studied a map.

Every time I looked out of the window it was dark. There was absolutely nothing to look at, just endless blackness. It was like the sun had overslept or something.

At the airport in Sao Paulo I was worried about missing my connecting flight to Campo Grande. No one seemed to speak any English so I waved my hands about and chanted “Campo Grande, Campo Grande.”

At first the people weren’t very friendly. In fact they were borderline rude; ignoring me, looking right through me, walking off as I approached, until they discovered I was a foreigner and the dazzling smiles came out.

I’m not one to ascribe racism to every negative encounter with non-black people but there were definitely negative vibes going on. I guess technically it wasn't racism, because they were really nice and helpful when they found out I’m not Brazilian. Maybe it’s an internal problem, the sort of problem usually faced by countries with colour-coded populations.

I finally got directions to the domestic wing (still frantic about missing my flight) and when I got to the VARIG/TAM office upstairs a lady behind the counter smiled and said “Jay Jay!” when she saw my Nigerian passport. She was really friendly and though her spoken English wasn’t that good I figured out she liked football (what Brazilian doesn’t?) and probably admired Jay Jay Okocha. So Jay Jay’s dribbling skills helped make life a little easier for a fellow Nigerian, miles away in South America. She gave me my boarding pass and directed me to the right terminal.

Remember I said her English wasn’t fantastic? Her directions were confusing so I ended up at the wrong place.

“Campo Grande, Campo Grande” I said to some guards.

One of them escorted me to the right terminal where I settled in to wait for my flight.

I felt lost and alone. Just as I was kicking myself for not buying a Portuguese phrase book, I heard someone speaking English. This sounds ridiculous but the sound of words I understood was really comforting.

I moved closer to the English couple who were talking about their trip. They were also going to Campo Grande so I sat near them and read a book while enjoying the sound of a familiar language.