Ahh. We'd made it to the plane.
I relaxed so hard after that bit of crazy that I think I fell asleep. It's a short hop from Curitiba to Foz so very shortly I was back in the weird little city of Iguassu.
For some reason I think I'd made the reservation for the hostel, based on a recommendation Airell had gotten from another traveler. This was the first and last bit of accomodation arranging I managed. After this it was all Airell.
Favela Chic had been open for less than 6 months when we arrived. It's owned by an English guy named Nick who'd married a Brazilian girl and was looking for a business to make a living.
He's doing a great job. We walked in the door, he greeted us at the desk and I'm not even kidding, it was like you were sitting down with an old friend you hadn't seen in 10 years. (I've very recently done just that so I know of what I speak). The normal check-in process in a hotel is clinical, business-like and you may chat with the staff or you may not. That's ok, that's kind of the point of a hotel. A good hotel will have someone at the front desk who knows when to chat and when not to chat. You can't ask for much more than that.
I'd never stayed in really great hostel before. Just dodgy ones or deserted ones, so I wasn't impressed with the genre. But! As I've said before, if you're travelling with someone nice enough to let you travel with them without a lot of notice - you just don't make yourself a pain in the ass.
At least you try not to make yourself a pain in the ass. I make no guarantees or promises when you're a little soft in the head and becoming very ill indeed.
(Yeesh with the damn digressions).
So, Favela Chic? Great hostel. I just popped onto hostelbookers (been spending a fair bit of time there lately since I think I want to pay for a better seat on the airplane to Europe and make up for it by staying in cheap places) and the total price for a 1 night stay per person, in the 13 bed mixed dorm with 2 baths is presently $13.57. CAD. This includes a hot English-style (think sausages, eggs and tomatoes) cooked breakfast.
Hot diggity damn.
Breakfast got cooked off to the right. You could camp up in the space behind the picnic table. Current price is about $5 CAD night.
I think we sat and chatted with Nick for the better part of an hour. He explained how the hostel functioned, pointed out the bar in the next (outdoor) room and let us know about a tour heading to the Argentinian side of the falls the next morning. For a low, low price he'd get us in the van and across the border. There were 4 other people signed up and there was room for the 2 of us.
Naturally we signed up.
Nick assumed we'd never seen the falls - I explained that my general unplanning had led me to come back to Iguassu, so I'd seen the Brazilian side. He told me that Argentina would be a much more intimate experience.
It's a waterfall, I thought, but alrighty then.
We paid for our stay and then our conversation ranged far and wide. Up and down. The location of the bar with live music down the road. The best place to get some cash and a kilo restaurant at the grocery down another road. How exactly those crazy Brazilian showers actually worked. Namely - that little plastic gadget where the water comes out? Is actually a wimpy on-demand water heater. Will heat water, but not very much at a time. THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN HELPFUL INFORMATION EARLIER. We talked philosophy. Etc. At some point Nick suggested that we were American.
I think it was the sidelong incredulous glance that Airell and I shared at that moment that clued Nick in. We admitted to being Canadian (with a certain amount of mock horror that we'd been tagged as Americans) and Nick fell all over himself apologizing.
It was funny simply because of how mortified he was by his mistake. Also he fancied himself as being quite good with accents so he was bothered he hadn't picked ours up.
This led to a conversation about north American accents, accents in general and eventually Nick said, 'Canadians. You're all so great but crazy.'
Why yes we are, but why do you say that?
Some time back, there had been a group of Canadians staying at the hostel. Remember the in-house bar? The Canadian party (6 -9 people, maybe?) had drank him dry. He was flabbergasted by how we Canadians could pack it away.
Heh. Without missing a beat Airell and I turned to each other and said, 'Challenge Accepted.' The pride of our country at stake.
So eventually Nick wanted to go home (he'd literally just hired some help, this was the first night he was going home to be with his family) and he showed us to the dorm. Bottom bunks again, since the place wasn't full. Excellent.
Now, it was getting on into the evening, and we hadn't eaten since the leftover fruit in the bus station in Paranagua (except for airplane snacks) and Nick had told us the kilo restaurant in the grocery store closed at 9.
I was extremely happy to be reunited with my things. There's nothing like living out of the equivalent of 2 Safeway bags for 2 days to make you thankful for the acres of space (and the things in that space) in a 24" suitcase. Especially when one of your Safeway bags was filled with the ridiculous pile of prescription and non-prescription meds I needed to be taking.
It was good to see my stuff again, despite the fact most of it was dirty.
***
OK, another digression. I finally knew for sure that Brazil was happening on a Tuesday afternoon. We were leaving for the airport at 10pm on Thursday. I could not carry my suitcase - in fact, I placed it open in the back of my car and carried my things to it. For reals. I packed extremely light since Val was going to be carrying my bag. Val? Left Edmonton with 49.5lb of luggage. We respond to stress packing in different ways, I suppose. The funny thing is that almost every picture I have of Val has her wearing the same butterfly t-shirt. Haha! She packed for the conference, so she looked good there. And we really had no plan for what we were doing after the meeting.
I didn't have a lot of choice in clothing. I packed for 2 weeks, and I packed planning to wash clothing as we travelled. I did buy a couple pairs of jeans in Miami, and a pink flowered tank-top. One pair of jeans went home with Val. How exactly I would wash my clothes I could not tell you, other than a vague collection of Tide single serve sink detergents in my makeup bag. I did use them. Once. It sucked.
Favela Chic had a deal with a laundry service - they pick it up, wash it, and return to you at the end of the next day. Cost was per pound of laundry. I think I sent everything I had (and I'd just sent out laundry in Bonito) except for what was actually on me. My clothes were returned, as promised, the next day, folded in ways I didn't think clothing could be folded. Worth the money just to see the folding.
***
OK. Back to the hostel. I didn't have a lot of stuff to choose from to change into, I may have showered quickly but as per usual, I was ready to go way before Airell was.
Did I mention the bar that was right there in the hostel? The one below?
There were a pile of interesting looking people over there, and dammit, I've been told the people you meet in them are the reason hostels exist so.... I waded into the group of people and I cannot tell a lie, that group of people sold me on the hostel life.
Nick had developed a drink called the Favela special (could not begin to tell you what it was concocted from) so that became my drink of choice. Met all the requirements by being tasty and suitably boozy. And! Not that night, but the next, I did in fact succeed in drinking the bar dry. They ran out of the ingredients for the favela special.
I've never been prouder to be Canadian.
There were 6 other people at the bar, and God bless them, they were the friendliest and most interesting 6 people I'd met in a long time.
They were a couple from Switzerland on their gap year, making their way around the world (using a fancy airpass from a European airline that let them flit from place to place all over the world, simply, I think, because they were young. I chatted with them for ages since the sheer enormity of the trip they'd undertaken blew my mind. They were catching a bus the next morning and riding to a friend of a friend's relative to stay). Another couple that was older than 'just graduated from high school' and were making their way around South America, they went with us to the Argentinian Falls the next day but I could not tell you more about them. Or where they were from. She had long dark hair. The other couple was from England. She (Jenny) was in Iguassu for a conference, he (Thomas) had come along for the trip. They lived in Rio, where Jenny was doing a post-doc in green chemistry. Thomas was working as a tutor in English but is an archaeologist by training. They had snagged the coolest hotel/hostel/guesthouse room ever - an old van with a mattress inside. Favela chic indeed.
More hammocks. Heaven.
And a tree, around which they'd built the hostel. I loved that place.
My job is one of the best ice breakers there is. When I'm asked what I do for a living, my standard answer is 'Chicken Scientist.'
This is often met by blank, incredulous stares, followed by laughter (with me, usually not at me) and a barrage of questions. Airell is a grad student also working with chickens, but being younger and hipper than I, preferred to say that he was studying animal science.
Chickens have taken me all over the world and afford me the priviliged lifestyle I lead, so I give the chickens their due. I?
Am a chicken scientist. And proud of it.
I'll be honest. It's not always been my default to jump into social situations like that. There was a time I hated it. How do you know what to say? Keep the conversation going? Think of interesting things to say to people?
Well you know what? I've learned, from ever extending experience that the best way to be a great conversationalist? Is to ask questions. Listen to what the people say, and find a follow-up question. You really don't have to say much at all. And! You can get to know people very quickly. Is awesome. WHERE WAS THIS KNOWLEDGE WHEN I WAS 20?
Oh. Right. I still had my head up my ass when I was 20.
As did we all?
Anyway, by the time Airell finished making himself beautiful (did I ever mention people have thought he's Justin Bieber? No? Well, is true. I went to school with Justin Bieber's uncle Rob (in 1992-93!) and now I was travelling with someone who I'm told looks like Justin. Weird). I had made friends with everyone at the bar, established myself as a hilarious yet quirky chicken scientist with a well-developed sense of the ridiculous and downed at least a couple of drinks in short order.
I think Airell was somewhat bewildered by how quickly I adjusted to the hostel lifestyle. I introduced him to the people who'd be going to Argentina with us the next day, we explained (again) that we were merely friends that worked together (this also blew people's minds) and he settled in for a drink himself.
That was another good evening. Eventually I realized I. Was. Starving. It was about 830 and the restaurant closed at 9 so time was of the essence. I excused myself from the Swiss couple and told Airell I was going to get something to eat. He decided to come with and we set off through a rather dodgy looking neighborhood to the kilo restaurant. Everything looks dodgier at night - we had no problems and by daylight the next day it all looked normal.
The kilo restaurant? Was ok. It was just before closing so you couldn't expect much. We were also in a grocery store so... not exactly high class. We got some cash, maybe some snack food at the grocery side before we left and headed back to the hostel.
We might have gone back to the bar, we might have gone straight to bed. Does it matter? No. It had been a weird ass crazy, but awesome day. And the next day? Was going to get even better. For we were going to Argentina.
For the day.
As you do.
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