Ponte Porã, Brazil - I Don't Think We're In Paraguay Anymore

We took the noon bus to Pedro Juan Caballero with just our daypacks. (Hotel Frances concierge's response to our request to leave our packs with them for a couple of days: A confused look and "You can't leave them in the room...") We were sitting on the bus waiting for it to move when a bunch of kids came on selling candy. We declined politely and they stopped offering, but they didn't go away. So we talked to them. And they were really, really sweet.

They hung around staring shyly until Michael started making conversation with them, and then they wanted to know our names and where we were from. One of them, bless her heart, even managed to discreetly cop a feel of my hair. She stood next to my seat and ever... so... casually... leaned her arm along the top of my seatback... it was a charming mixture of innocence and deviousness, like if you went to the movies with Richie Cunningham and he did a big, fake yawn and stretch and then put his arm around you.

The most talkative girl was named Carolina. She spoke Spanish and Guaraní, but was also learning English in school, so she peppered us with that. ("WHAT is your NAME? One, two, three, four, five!") In Spanish she talked a mile a minute. We ended up buying one of her polka CDs.

She spotted Michael's camera and immediately wanted her photo taken. All the kids wanted their photos taken, and they didn't want any money either, just the amusement of looking at themselves on the screen afterwards. I was sad to see them scamper off the bus when it started to move.

The guidebook claims that it's a four hour trip from Concepcion to Pedro Juan Caballero, but it took us five hours. And that five hours felt like ten. We may finally have reached the end of our bus-riding rope, because in many respects it was a pleasant ride - nice weather, attractive scenery - but I simply couldn't wait to get off the bus. (Michael said it was a real stare-o-rama when I fell asleep and managed to draw even more attentiont to my head by flopping it around.)

It was a relief to push our way off the bus in Pedro Juan, though we had no idea where we were. We finally asked directions of a woman in a fabric store and she told us how to get to one of the hotels in the LP. But on the way there, we spotted a couple of skyscraping hotel towers reaching above all the other roofs and decided to check them out.

We were confused, in the lobby of the first one, to see the price listed as "R$" Reis? Who? Well, we're right on the border of Brazil, so that's probably why they take Brazillian money. We quickly ascertained that they accept Paraguayan money as well.

But checking out the hotel across the street, (much nicer and twice the price) things just seemed too weird and we finally had to ask. And it's really a very embarrassing thing to have to ask someone, what country you're in. But Michael did it. He asked if we were in Brazil and they said yes, we were.

Oh. So we knew we were coming close, and I had a secret, childish fantasy of sneaking and stepping over the border just for a second. Maybe doing a dance before stepping back. But there hadn't been a discernable border and we'd done more than sneak across for a second. We were full-on in Brazil, and we hadn't paid the $100 cover. We had absolutely no idea if anyone was going to ask for our passports, and if they'd think much of the explanation that we thought we were still in Paraguay.

Michael was for casually sneaking back out, but I was loving the idea of secretly sleeping in Brazil, and so we went back to the first hotel and booked a room. A confusing room, where we had to insert the room key into a wall panel before we could turn on any of the lights. The room had a refrigerator, so we went to a nearby supermarket hoping to stock up on food for our trip to the national park tomorrow. They didn't speak much Spanish, but they were willing to accept guaranies.

To make our lives easier, we went back to the fancy hotel for dinner. We asked the girl behind the bar if she spoke Spanish, and she said, "mas o menos" (more or less). Those were the last words of Spanish we ever heard her speak.

The menu was incomprehensible. I know what you're thinking. "But Portugese is almost just like Spanish!" Well, I guess. I mean, sure why not? But it's not. It doesn't sound a thing like Spanish. I think it sounds more like French, and Michael thinks it sounds more like German, and nothing on the menu looked even the tiniest bit familiar. Feijoada, the beginning and end of my knowledge of Brazilian food, was not on the menu. Lasagna was on the menu, but they were out of it.

"Que es bueno?" I finally asked the waitress. ("What is good?")

She frowned for a moment and then said, "Ah! Que é bom?" and drew her finger down the entire list of main dishes. Sigh. In the end we chose at random and hoped for the best. It took a very long time for our food to materialize, but in the meantime we were entertained by a Brazilian soap opera called "Paginas da Vida" (Ok, so that looks just like Spanish but I'm telling you, nothing on the menu looked Spanish at all.)

Anyway it was a soap opera so it was easy to follow, and we stared at it as we waited. In the one hour, we saw two scenes that you won't see on All My Children. The first, a young couple squabbling over something as their infant cries. The man leaves and the woman sighs, stares off into space, and puts the infant to her breast to feed it, but like, for real, no panning up to her face and leaving it to our imagination. Nipple, latching on, the whole thing. The second, it's a couple's wedding night, and they're frolicking about the honeymoon suite in their wedding underwear and the woman takes off her bra. But again, like, for real.

The food was interesting. A plate of bits of grilled chicken and rolled up cheese and olives, and a big crepe-y thing with melted cheese all over it. Not as flavorful as I'd assumed Brazilian food would be, but decent enough. The beer was great. We had some reis that we'd gotten as change from the supermarket, and we paid for our food with them.

I can't believe we're in Brazil. We had no intention of coming here at all and we simply weren't prepared. We don't know even the most basic of greetings or pleasantries or numbers. The only Portugese word we know is obrigado, and we can't seem to remember to say it instead of gracias.

We have bumbled a lot on this trip, but never to the extent that we have bumbled around this tiny corner of Brazil tonight. At least when we got to Mexico we knew what a taco was, and how to say hello. But it's also a bit surprising how little Spanish is spoken in a town where you can literally cross the street and be in Paraguay. (Maybe they all speak Guaraní as a second language?) And it's a little frustrating having to go around trying to find someone we can communicate with after having progressed so far in Spanish. Are we still Ugly Americans if we insist on speaking Spanish all the time in Brazil? LE DIMOS CINCO DOLORES!!

But whatever, we are really excited to have made it to Brazil, even if only for a couple of nights on a technicality.

HOURS ON THE BUS: 369.5