On the left: an encampment of field hockey stars. I don't know their story, but a story these airport Bedouins surely had.
Oh! And look who decided to show up! My TAM aircraft, rolling in at its leisure a good 30 minutes after we were supposed to leave.
But who can stay mad at a magic red carpet, especially one with cameras telling you tales from outside?
And the eeriest conceivable cg safety videos?
They fed me this, my first and worst Brazilian breakfasts and lunches:
If YouTube weren't being a jerk I'd have a video here from my monitor of our landing in Sao Paulo where I had to scurry as fast as I could to my Rio jet.
This, ladies and gentlemen, mother and father, family and friends, is Rio de Janeiro. The airport. In the middle of the night. It is a place where you will spend 45 minutes searching for an ATM and another 15 trying to make it work. But then you're off! With money in hand to find a taxi and a journey into the jaws of destiny!
And by jaws of destiny I mean Arriving at the hostel around midnight without a clue as to where you are to lay down or where your friends might be and falling asleep on a couch covered with teddy bears with many other displaced guests spread out around you, clutching your valuables like Linus's blanket because you've been told too many tales of these wretched hives of scum and villainy.
Did I wake up in one piece? With all my belongings? Tune in next post for the truth!