From everything I read about long-term travel, the first day is supposed to be rough. There's no longer any denying that you're spending a year (or longer!) away from home, from friends and family, from familiar routines. You might be travelling alone, without a ready support network. You're in a country where you may not know the language, adding to all the inevitable culture shock.
I was far more calm during my first day out of country than I had been in weeks whilst preparing for the trip.
I did my mental freaking out beforehand. My first stop is Brazil, and everybody I'd talked to, and everything I'd read, warned me about the crime in the large population centres -- especially São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. I'm carrying rather expensive photographic and computer gear and, despite being insured for it, would rather not lose everything to a mugging or a robbery. All the guidebooks warn that in Rio and São Paulo , cars roll through red lights late at night to prevent car-jackings and kidnappings. Obviously, I was visiting a crime-ridden hell hole. If that wasn't enough, I was also worried because I don't speak a lick of Portuguese and I hate not being able to effectively communicate. I mean, how was I supposed to assure muggers that I was willing to hand over everything if all that was coming out of my mouth was gibberish?
Most of all, I was certainly landing in Brazil alone. I had no support person who would also look like an idiot whilst trying to get directions with hand-signals and a lot of grunting. There was nobody else to help beat off the thugs. I was so screwed, and wondering why in the hell I quit my job and do this.
The thunderstorms that rolled through Toronto the night I left had caused havoc at the airport and I was standing in line for an hour-and-a-half just to drop off my check-in bag. (Just what in the Hell is the point of checking in online when, to drop off your bag, they stick you in line with all the yobs who hadn't checked in anyway?) The Air Canada seat was cramped beyond belief and I got maybe three hours of very interrupted sleep while suffering from back and knee pain.
When I landed in São Paulo, I was too tired to worry. I just had to get down to it.
Once I got off the plane, I needed to get to my hostel. I had directions, but I had a few options. I could take a taxi directly to the hostel, but that cost R$80 (Brazilian reais) for the trip -- the equivalent of about C$50. That seemed outrageous, especially since taking an airport bus to the São Paulo Metro, navigating the subway, then walking five minutes to the hostel would only cost $R6.20. Cheapness won out over any anxiety of taking public transit.
I stopped off at the tourist information desk (where they spoke English) and confirmed that taking the bus and subway was feasible with a gigantic backpack. They said would be perfectly safe. So off I went to find the bus. There were a lot of different airport buses, to lots of varying destinations. The bus stops weren't labeled well, but I was able to find the bus with help from the airport attendants (who spoke no English) by saying the name of the Metro station and with a lot of pointing.
Once I was on the bus, I started feeling an incredible sense of calm. I hadn't been robbed at the airport, and I was making myself understood despite not speaking Portuguese (though, people were constantly coming up to me assuming I was Brazilian.)
I was on my way.
The Metro was well labelled and the trip was painless, despite having to change lines twice. I ended up walking about ten minutes down the wrong street once I exited at my station, necessitating back-tracking and getting directions from people on the street (more pointing), but I was at the LimeTime Hostel in less than an hour-and-a-half from leaving the airport.
I checked in, made up my bed in the dorm, then ran into the Norwegian guy who was sharing my room. Daniel was about to head out to look for food. I was hungry and decided to join him.
Off to a good start.
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