“This may be the last time we’re seeing the sun in a while,” Feng prophesied, looking out of the window at Santo Dumont airport in Rio de Janeiro. “Well, me, not you.”
It was freezing because of the air conditioning, but it was sunny alright, and I was looking forward to both the amazing takeoff from Santos Dumont in Rio de Janeiro and the thrilling landing in Congonhas in São Paulo—you do think you’re gonna crash, but the view is amazing in these downtown airports.
“Let me check the weather… yeah, an 80% chance of rain. It just doesn’t say when, where, and what to expect. It’s São Paulo.”
I yawned despite my overpriced airport cup of coffee. I had March 11 on my calendar as a tiring, boring day we would spend in almost every form of transportation.
At 9:30 a.m., we walked from the Airbnb to the bus terminal in Cabo Frio, then we took the bus to Rio de Janeiro and arrived on time (!) at 2 p.m. Once at the rodoviária, Feng suddenly suggested taking the 15-kilometre tramway line inaugurated in 2016 that runs between the Novo Rio Bus Terminal and Santos Dumont Airport. I spent the eighteen stops wondering if I was in Brazil or in France—the tramway was built in France by Alstom and it’s exactly the same one as in Nantes!
At that stage, we still had a one-hour flight, then an Uber ride from Congonhas Airport to the Airbnb in Bela Vista. We’d be there around 7 p.m., hopefully. Not that I was particularly worried about our arrival time—realistically, we probably only master 5% of São Paulo but we know “our” neighbourhoods very well. I can find food and almost anything I need anytime in “Sampa.” Plenty of Carrefour are open 24/7 and so is one of my favourite bakeries around Paulista Avenue.
Still, it would be nice to, you know, get there at one point.
The takeoff was thrilling, and the view over Rio de Janeiro was stunning, just as expected. I took one last picture and closed my eyes. When I opened them forty minutes later, the sky was grey, and there were drops of water on the window.
“São Paulo, São Paulo… Seriously, already?”
It was raining when we landed. It kept on raining during the endless taxi ride to Bela Vista—we were stuck in the traffic for almost an hour.
I dug my umbrella out of my backpack—I bought a 30-real umbrella in the street almost every time we’re in São Paulo. We have at least four or five in Ottawa, plus another three I brought to France.
It’s okay, São Paulo. I’m not mad. At least, it’s not cold and I know these are tears of joy because we’re here again… right?
