Curitibanese Aventuras: Bus journey to Rio

To Henrik...

Saterday the 24th September - I have a bus to catch to Rio. It leaves at 20h15.

In Curitiba, the night falls radically: at 5 pm it is clear and sunny, at 6 pm the dark velvet coat covers the sky - it is the blue hour in Curitiba, and a half hour later it is night. I still get surprised each time of the velocity of night fall. Thus at 20h15 thus, I won't see the mounts from the bus window when we'll drive down the serra, down towards the coast: it is dark outside. When we leave the city, the lights still reveal the road but, then nothing is left for the eye to gaze at - just the guess of the mountains silhouette, a shadow in the night. If it wasn't for the name written on my ticket, I wouldn't know where we were heading.

My mood and senses on this trip are most certainly influenced by the actual purpose of the journey: I have to catch a plane in Rio, which will take me back to Europe, to Denmark, to the funeral. The blur of my thoughts adds to the thickness of the night - there is nothing else to do than sleep, close the curtains and sleep. The bus stops every second or third hour. At our second stop, somewhere between Curitiba and Rio, I see carioca people as I step out of the bus. The air is thick and warm, as even the night smells of sun: we must get close to Rio de Janeiro, away from the cool and pale Curitibanos...

Further on the way... Finally the morning light begins to reveal mounts and vegetation of different form and appearence. The dawn is grey and misty. Green masses here, horizon of curved velvet mounts there, a shack here, a seedy motel there - Dallas...? as if a name can put up for a lack of fancyness - no fine constructions but so colourful though. Road restaurants where you wonder from where they get their clients. More nature, more green, thick and rich vegetation, a sudden red sharp flower, more colours... People on foot, on bikes, in havaianas pedaling up and down hill. Children sitting or walking with their mum to who knows where... Old faces, young faces. What you see from a window, a moving window, is all those impressions and surprises - they form this impressionistic picture in one's mind, leaving space for dream and fantasy. Those impressions are gifts tickling the imagination and curiosity. Today they are also gifts of beauty, surprises awaking a smile and happy feeling about all what is still to discover, when I did not know what awaited me - and only had this sentiment of what Rio could be.

Hope your last journey brought you the same delightful and amazing surprises
as the sights of beauty from that bus window - Thanks for the trip.