The Brazilians are starting to sing for no apparent reason. The Guaraní are weaving bags in the middle of the airport and going from line to line to sell them to departing tourists. The Argentinian biker in front of me has just confessed he is flying for the first time and is scared shitless, and anyone striking up a conversation asks me first, “Spanish or Portuguese?” because these are the only two acceptable options.

Welcome to Silvio Pettirossi International Airport, Asunción.

Yes, I’m leaving Paraguay already without applying for residency. I’m travelling back to Brazil. I love you, Paraguay, but I miss Brazil. I can spend weeks—months—in Brazil. Please adopt me, Brazil.

And here I am, standing in the middle of the airport, waiting in line at the AZUL counter. It’s not open yet. We all showed up early, apparently, probably because most of us had a morning checkout time.

My Airbnb host generously let me stay until noon—not bad for a 3:50 p.m. flight—but it only took about 20 minutes to get to the airport, and now I’m waiting.

There isn’t much to do except chat. Silvio Pettirossi International Airport is tiny—just like Ottawa. No air con either.

There isn’t much repacking going on, mostly because most travellers didn’t check a bag. However, the big question is, “Will tereré make it through security?” I’ll drink my Coke Zero before, it may look more suspicious than a giant leather-covered thermos of iced water and small gourds filled with a thick layer of yerba maté.

We’re bored, so we’re all chatting. I’m coaching Ariel, the 60-year-old first-time traveller from Argentina.

“What are we queuing for, exactly?”

“Luggage drop-off. And a boarding pass if you didn’t check in online.”

“Check in online? Oh, my… I was going to ride my motorbike to Curitiba. I can’t fly—I’m scared of flying! But I’m going there for work, and they said, ‘No bike’… I still biked to Asunción, ah.”

“You’ll be okay, trust me. AZUL is a good airline. Hey, they feed you snacks for free!”

“You get free food up there? Crazy.”

And why am I flying to Curitiba, you may ask? Because it was a cheap route back to Brazil—plus, I haven’t been to Curitiba since 2018. Mark was five the last time we were there. I’ve just looked at the pictures—he looked so young, so tiny, so happy back then!

I take one last picture of Ariel boarding his very first flight and advise him jokingly to go pee before the flight—“plane toilets are expert level, you have to keep your balance!”

I’d say anything to make him laugh. The poor guy is scared—and embarrassed to be scared.

My twentysomething seatmate doesn’t look scared to fly. She’s happy to leave Paraguay, apparently. Brazilian? Nope, Paraguayan.

“I hate it—there’s just… nothing there!”

Nothing and everything at the same time. I really enjoyed Asunción. But as we take off, I realize how small the city is, mostly low-rise buildings and so much green around it.

I tap her shoulder when we land in Curitiba 90 minutes later.

“Look—a city!”

She’s so excited. Buildings. Tons of buildings. Tons of people!

“It’s going to be colder, though…” I predict.

We’re early—it’s only 5 p.m. It takes five minutes to go through immigration, another five for my backpack to show up on the carousel, and the next thing you know, I’m booking my Uber ride.

“Focus, Juliette, focus—Portuguese, not Spanish…”

Except my Uber driver is from Venezuela, so I switch back to Spanish for the ride.

Phew.

It’s been a long day, a short flight, and here I am, a world away… where’s the nearest padaria for coffee?