A week’s worth of rain drenched João Pessoa on Sunday night. The wind suddenly picked up, the sky opened up, and buckets of water started soaking the late-night Sunday crowd, adding to a vaguely dramatic end-of-week feeling.

I walked back to the apartment completely soaked—good thing I wasn’t wearing a white dress—and promptly dumped everything in the washing machine. It dries fast here, especially with a strategically positioned fan.

Then I started packing, mulling over options and cursing the TIP.

Recife’s TIP is the bane of my travel existence. It’s the Terminal Integrado de Passageiros, aka the bus terminal, and it’s right in the middle of nowhere, far from just about everything.

No kidding.

Recife is this weird city where the airport is minutes from Boa Viagem, the residential neighborhood, but the bus station is kilometers away from just about everything else.

And I wasn’t even going to Recife, but to Porto de Galinhas, 60 kilometers south of Recife.

Recife’s beach is known for shark attacks. Porto de Galinhas, aka “Harbor Chicken,” is known for tidal pools and turquoise water. I had never been to Porto de Galinhas—so it was time to trade sharks for chicken.

The “getting there” part was the tricky part. From João Pessoa, I had to take the two-hour bus to Recife and arrive at the TIP.

The hourly bus to Porto de Galinhas didn’t leave from the TIP, but from downtown Recife, at Cais de Santa Rita.

“I really don’t want to Uber to the Cais and wait around with my backpack,” I told just about anyone who cared about my travel plans. The Cais is a bit dodgy and very busy. Not exactly the best place to wait for a bus I couldn’t book ahead and that might not show up.

“It goes through the airport,” my helpful Brazilian friend pointed out. “Maybe you can catch it there?”

So this was plan A: arrive at the TIP, Uber to the airport, and catch the bus to Porto de Galinhas.

Or just fucking Uber to Porto de Galinhas.

In doubt, I booked an Uber ride—100 reais, $30, not bad at all. But based on my experience, pre-booked Ubers rarely show up.

The third option was to take a bus to a local town from the TIP and Uber to Porto de Galinhas, but it was a three-hour trip all in.

If you’re lost, so was I.

I decided to leave early to maximise my chances of getting to Porto de Galinhas before the 5:30 p.m. Nordeste sunset.

The next morning, my Uber driver spoke fluent French—as a former member of the military, he was curious about my opinion on the US bombing Iran. I didn’t have much of an opinion about it at 8 a.m. after a night spent working, but the conversation was great. I think.

I passed out on the bus to Recife after listening to the driver remind all passengers that unauthorized stops before the TIP were indeed unauthorized and that we should complain to the Ministry of Transportation.

Really, no one wants to stop at the faraway TIP.

When I woke up, the bus had stopped at Caxangá, apparently an authorized stop.

“People, get off!” the driver almost begged. “It’s the most convenient stop for Recife, the airport, Boa Viagem, and more!”

Four of us stayed on board.

My phone beeped.

“I’m your Uber driver. I’m on the way!”

No way.

Amazing.

“I’ll be there at 11 a.m., a bit ahead of time.”

“I’m early too!”

“I’ll be at desembarque.”

“I’ll pick you up!”

This random Uber driver had managed to do something my father could never achieve—pick me up on time at the right place. I mean, my dad once went to the wrong airport—and even the wrong city—when I was flying back from China in my teens.

I slept some more in the Uber.

And just like that, I got to Porto de Galinhas more easily than I had thought.

I love Brazil. It’s my problem-solution place.