The Cuban Visa

Last (I hope) saga about a visa.

Two weeks and some days away from going home, it is time to think about the stopover I planned in Cuba. Because yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, we need a visa to visit Castro's country. At least, that's what one can read on the canadian governement website.

In fact, it is necessary to get a "visitor's card". Most Canadians get one when they book through a travel agency. It means they often ignore they need it because they didn't have to ask for it. But for a nomad like me, who booked online, it is necessary to go to the consulate to get the piece of paper.

Informations are contradictory online. In some places, they'll say it is possible to pay to get the card at the airport in Habana. Others say you'll need the card at check-in or you'll be denied boarding.

No need to take chances. I found the correct list of documents I needed. Passport, a copy of my ticket, proof of stay... Form filled (impossible to find it online), proof of insurance and other papers also appear on some lists online. Hard to find your way.

Same for the time needed to get the card. Mystery.

I asked people at my hostel to phone the consulate in Sao Paulo (yo no hablo el portuguese) to ask. They said with my documents, I would get the visa the same day.

Took my courage (and patience) in both my hands and headed to the consulate. Got there 40 minutes before it closed. Was the last one in.

I thought it would be harder. But the visa guy was really nice, understood I didn't speak portuguese. With a half filled form, because I didn't know what to write in most of the spaces to fill, and a signature, the man was happy. I needed a copy of my ticket, a copy of my passport and a proof of stay in a hostel.

Couple of minutes later, he printed my card. I can get in Cuba without any problem.

Was easy.

A Brazilian Big Appel

Praça de Sé, Sao Paulo

Here I am in one of the biggest cities in the world : Sao Paulo.

First thing : the "metropol" title is well deserved. The city is huge.

Everywhere, when I said I wanted to stop there, people asked why. Nothing to do in Sao Paulo they say. No smoke without fire, they say. So it's a little bit true there is nothing to do.

A little bit false too, because one only needs to appreciate urban landscapes and architecture to stay busy... at least one day.

Good news are it is possible to slow down in Sao Paulo. Paulista Avenue is probably the most interesting, especially because of the decorated phone booths and the strange buildings. Museums will keep the arts lovers busy, especially the MASP, where you can find art pieces from Van Gogh and Cezanne.

My favorite was the Image and Sound Museum, where they had an exposition about Georges Méliès with french writings... and a lot of movies.

But the most interesting part of the city was my hostel, Hey Hostel, opened only since last week. One of the owners, whose my age, traveled around the world for seven months two years ago. He now travels through his clients. It gives me ideas for when I'll be back home.

Have I said I tried a "wine", or a kind of cachça made with grapes, which I could drink?

Iguazu

I stayed in Sao Paulo for one extra day. If I planned on flying to Iguazu Falls today, I had a small problem with my bookings. The brazilian websites won't let you book anything without a brazilian ID number. But they still ask which country you're from. Nothing to understand.

People at the hostel were kind enough to pay the ticket with their credit card in exchange for the same amount in cash. While doing that, we found a flight on Wedenesday, with Web Jet, which was 40 $ cheaper. Way cheaper than taking the bus. And cheaper than flying on Tuesday.

In the air, Iguazu is about two and a half hours away from Sao Paulo. On the road, you must allow 18 hours. I win all the way.

The other good news is I might reunite with a friend I met in Vietnam. She's in Argentina until Sunday. We'll see what we can arrange.

In the end, have I said it is impossible to dry clothes in Brazil? Humidity is too high. When I left Paraty, even the clothes I didn't wear we're damp.

Six shooters later

Paraty, Brazil

Warning : no "Oh my God" neither any joke will be accepted after reading this post.

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The man finally left the postcard landscapes of Rio de Janeiro for the little town of Paraty, somewhere along the road to Sao Paulo.

Even if the road is beautiful and the bus comfortable compared to all the rumours you can hear about them buses down here, I used those four hours of traveling to catch up on my sleep.

(Parenthesis, literally, about the buses. The city buses, on the other hand, are not as comfortable. Suspension? Never heard of that.)

In Paraty, what is there to do? Almost nothing, it seems. But I enrolled in a horseback riding expedition in the brazilian jungle. A really good choice.

On Cassiqui back, a white horse who seemed to obey less to my directions than his need to follow the other horses, I experienced galoping, dirt paths and rivers to cross. We stopped at a freezing fall where our group of three went for a "polar" bath.

From there, we visited a cachaça distillery, where they make that brazlian alcohol with sugar canes. Yes, I tasted it.

It was my luck. After the "pure" cachaça, there were still five sorts of that drink, from the worst one to the one with caramel in it. Had a shooter of each. Got a confirmation from the Australian girl next to met, who never drinks either : six shooters in three minutes, it's enough to feel tipsy. Five tipsy minutes while horseback riding...

We came back just before I started thinking of complaining about some pain... Felt nothing but it sure will catch me tomorrow.

After pure tourism and problems in the last few days, this adventure allowed me to go back to the discovery part of my round-the-world trip.

I also met a Danish journalist who have been writing about politics for eight years. It'll help if I ever discover myself some talent in the danish language... And it helped with interesting discussions.

A 28 years old grandfather

On top of Corcovado, Rio

Rio de Janeiro. One of the cities I wanted to see the most. But the adventure started rough and wasn't too enchanting.

The hostel I chose opened recently. They didn't let me access my room when I got in, at 7:30 AM, even if there was nobody in the room. Lack of experience.

I couldn't find a map of the city either. I was counting on them, because I couldn't get one at the airport. Like the ATM and the information desk. Missing. Or I didn't look at the right places. No map, in an unknow city, it feels a little strange.

When I finally got out to explore, I bought a bottle of water. First store, first scam. The old lady used the language barrier to shortchange me. But I was aware.

I lost a little bit of time organizing everything and determining what I wanted to do. To choose where I would go after. I decided to head to Paraty, starting tomorrow, a city right in between Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo. But it seems it is impossible to get a bus ticket online, in Brazil, when you don't have a brazilian social number. Damn! I will get to the station hoping they still have tickets.

Still in the cateogry "bad lucks", the lense of my small camera is scratched. It blurs some parts of my pictures. But I was counting on good old Bertha, a "bridge" I've owned for six years, I also brought with me around the world. After a sunset on Pao de Açucar (Sugarloaf), Bertha died suddenly. Useless.

I spent the morning trying to find a new camera. Because of importation fees, prices are way higher than they are in Canada. A man got to do what a man got to go. I didn't choose the best one, but I will at least be able to take pictures for the next few weeks.

In the stores of the city, it is recommended to pay cash. If not, the fees are very high. They would have charged me 40 $ more. Made it fast to the nearest ATM.

Security

Security wise, the question I get often is if it is dangerous to stroll down the streets of Rio. I admit I didn't know what to think at first. There are lots of weirdos everywhere. Homeless people are in every corner. I was paying attention to my camera to make sure I was safe (had I know it was about to break...)

On the first night, after a walk on Ipanema beach and a late dinner in Copacabana area, I went back with the metro, then walking, after 11 PM. No problem. Women could walk alone late at night. There was no danger at all.

Of course there is the favelas, those poor areas with small houses pilled up on one another. They are known for poverty, robbers and dealers. Gun shots can be heard there. It is not advised to go there on your own.

The truth is, since they got the 2016 Olympics in Rio, police officers are everywhere in the favelas. They started a big clean up. But people from other gangs are trying to take advantage of the other dealers to get their territory. Not a good idea to be there alone.

So I went on a tour with a company called Don't be a gringo, be a local. I felt no danger at all. Part of the profits of the tour are going to take care of the kids between 0 and 4 years old in Rocinha favela. The guides know everybody in there.

I rode a scooter to get on top of the favela, than visited local artists studios, a bakery... When you know most favelas citizens have big families and they start having children between 12 and 14 years old, it makes you think. There was even a man who was a grandfather twice... and he was only 28 years old.

Tourism

Rio is magnificient. We know about Corcovado, the Christ the Redeemer and Sugarloaf. In the first case, it is recommended to buy a train ticket to go up the mountain as much as possible. Even if you need to come back later to get on it. In our case, we would have had to wait for three hours because we hadn't book anything. We chose to go up with a bus.

On top, the crowd left little room to see the landscape. But it is worth it to climb up there. Especially towards the end of the day, to see the sunset and the night view.

To get to the top of Sugarloaf, the best way to avoid the line for the first lift is to climb the Urca hill by foot. But it takes a little effort. A good one even. The view from the top will be your reward.

And there is the famous beaches like Ipanema and Copacabana, where the speedo and the string are proudly worn. For people of all sizes... Even in winter, with temperatures around 30 Celsius, beaches are full of people.

The Brazilian themselves are like the French : the less sympathetic you are, the more chances you have of working in the tourism industry. At almost every counter where you can buy tickets, they make a mad face like they hate us.

Brazlian are also like Chinese, in that sense where it is better not to say the opposite of what they told you. It is like that because it is like that. That's what happened with that post office guy who kept answering the same way when I asked for stamps. "No stamps" he says.

Where can I buy stamps? "No stamps!"

Ok listen. I want to send letters. How do I do? "No stamps."

It is because here, they print the "stamp" on the envelope. But this guy could have just understood that I wanted to send letters and do whatever he needs to do instead of getting stuck on the stamps matter... 

Same for that woman in the metro, who refused the exact change I was giving her to buy a ticket. I think she wanted to get rid of her coins.

See, that's what it does when I spend some days without writing. You're stuck reading a whole novel...

Never again on TAP. NE-VER!

Ipanema beach

I still haven't sent my complaint letter. But I so want to ask for a refund.

You know, that time I lost my luggages? Well, it was one side of the incompetence of some TAP Airlines employees.

For my flight between Lisbon and Rio de Janeiro, which was supposed to stop for eight hours in Recife, I spent more money than ever on one single ticket.

Surprise number 1 : the flight is delayed for one and a half hour, without any clear reason.

At check-in, I was told my luggage would go directly to Rio de Janeiro, despite the stopover. I'm in doubt. Eight hours, or six and half now, maybe that is not enough for them to transfer my luggage properly... I'm bitter!

So I get to gate number 44, as my freshly printed ticket says I should do.

Making my way there, I hear at least ten messages for a change of gate. Seriously, some Portuguese have trouble with sticking to one decision.
 
Of course, the number of my gate is changing too. Will luggages follow? 

We end up boarding. An announcement says departure is delayed again, for thirty more minutes, which became 45.

Once we took off, I rushed to the entertainment system to see what movie was available for the seven hours of my flight. I was enthusiast about The Hunger Games and Les Intouchables. I should have time to see both.

But of course, the entertainment system... wasn't working properly. I told the flight attendant, who didn't seem to care.

One hour later, they restarted my system, but it still wasn't working correctly. I was told they were sorry, but there was not other available seat on the plane, so I would have to do without the entertainment system.

In Recife airport, since I didn't trust TAP, i decided to wait for my luggage on the conveyer belt, in case they were to show up. Surprise number two : they showed up. I had to check them in a second time. Thanks TAP for giving me wrong informations.

And to end it all, my flight to Recife was leaving earlier than expected. Respecting schedules is not in TAP and its partners culture it looks like.

At least, my luggages went all the way to my final destination.

Fast news

- You know when you stand up to get to the gate, in the airport, even if nobody said boarding had begun? Well, the plane is not gonna leave earlier because of that. There is no use to it. You will still need to wait for the last passenger to board before take off.

- If they offer porn magazines in airports, it means some people buy them. Who buys that for a flight?

- When you put a canadian flag on your backpack, everybody knows you're an english speaking canadian. But it's not necessary. For an unknow reason, the first time I traveled, I was told to put such a flag on my bag so people wouldn't think I'm American. Honestly, it's useless. And it looks a little silly.

Five months, a story without karma

The countdown to my return as really, really started. Those who see the glass half full will say I've been on the road for five months. Those who see the glass half empty will say I have less than a month to go around far, far away countries. To make mine this Earth.

I'm of those who see the glass half empty right now. Because I really don't want to go back, except to spend a couple of hours with that godson who misses me (rightfully) a little too much for his little kid heart.

That said, in the assessment area, I can tell the fifth month was the most intense, as much on the questionning side, the non necessary stress side and unforgettable encounters. Maybe I'm getting more and more sensitive with time.

That last month was marked by a visit in the hospital, an improvised pit stop in Greece, the purchase of my  most expensive flight ever, even if it's a one way flight, a very strange adventure to get my visa for Brazil, lost luggages and deeply moving encounters. It was the time of my most depressing moments too, because of all of those adventures. I needed to stop many times, on park benches, anywhere in fact, because i didn't want to move anymore. Because I needed to pause, think right there, and try to get over that hollow of vagueness. Searching for a meaning to all of this...

Month number 5 was marked by the discovery of strong links you can build in 24 hours, the astonishment is still present when someone says "I genuinely enjoyed my time with you"- after only a few hours - this impression of hating life because it brings us apart too fast from people we might never see again and have been in our lives for too short.

Month number 5 is testing the confidence in ourselves, getting older too fast, making decisions for the future, which is still too close, and will definitely catch us somewhere. It's wishing those decisions hold when time will come to make them true. It's searching for a way to spend six more months traveling, in pure improvisation this time, to test the speed of the wind that will bring us who-knows-where.

Month number 5 is receiving love from home, from people too stressed out to say "I love you" daily, but are taking time for me because they are missing me. It's always when you leave that people start realizing how much you mean to them.

Month number 5, it's pushing a little too much on the batteries, moving often from a country to another, and feeling like we need to land somewhere, only if it was for five consecutive days. But regretting nothing, because it was so worth it.

Month number 5, it's thinking you need to go back, just so you are ready when time comes. Actually, I booked all the flights I need to get back to Montreal. If I see myself holding on the door of the plane, at Pierre-Elliott-Trudeau airport, refusing to let go of that trip of a lifetime, I'm trying to think positive to tell myself everything will be fine. And I try to trust those words I saw on a fence, in a park in Helsinki : "One day, I'll get over all of my doubts".

Here are the cities I've seen in the last month :

Thailand : Chiang Mai, Bangkok.
Jordan : Amman, Petra (Wadi Musa), Wadi Rum, Amman
Greece : Athens, Mykonos
Lithuania : Vilnius, Trakai
Latvia : Riga, Sigulda
Estonia : Tallinn, Lahemaa national park
Finland : Helsinki
Portugal : Lisbon, Lagos, Sagres

Strangely Portugal

Sagres

With all those stories about karma filled with emotion, I neglected to talk about my latest destination : Portugal.

If I say San Francisco is one of my favorite cities in the whole world (until now) and Lisbon reminds me of San Francisco, it shows how I like the place.

The expected heat didn't show up. A modest 28 degrees Celsius was a "cold" maximum in here. I also needed to put a sweater on in the evening because it got chilly.

But it seems the sun will make its magic happen in the next few days, since we expect temperatures around 37 and 40.

Other thing : a very important music festival, with Radiohead as a headliner, took place last week-end. Everybody was converging to the capital and was trying to find a bed in a hostel.

I, again, had no clue that was happening. But it wasn't the end of the world. I packed my belongings, visited three different hostels in Lisbon, and booked a bus ticket to Lagos, in the south.

It is a party city where youth and douchebags are kings. So Lagos doesn't make me feel particularly at home. But the walk I made from cliff to cliff was worth it. Beaches are beautiful and not as commercial as the ones I saw in Greece.

The next day, for my birthday, I went to Sagres, where is Cape Saint-Vincent, the most south-eastern point in Europe. It is very windy but the view is amazing. The only shadow came from the information desk, closed, on which I was counting to help me find something to do. It is closed on Sundays et Mondays. Like all tourists were taking days off on these particular days.

That said, why is Portugal that strange? Because of my visa story, first, which brought me the help of a total stranger.

Because of that old lady, too, who gave me directions to find the bus station. She answered in Portuguese with informations I knew weren't right, because she didn't get the question. She gave me a very passionate kiss on the cheek when I said "Thank you". 

For the pepople working in the tourist business, who are the less sympathetic people in the country.

For that other old lady I took directions from, who looked intimidated at first, but whose eyes lightened up when I mumbled centro, to say I wanted to find my way back downtown.

For all those dealers, twelve for every square meter, offering hasch, cocaine and marijuana to tourists. They won't take no as an answer. They will follow you to make sure you understood what they had to offer.

For those waiters in Lagos restaurant, laughing each time they looked at me, until one of them, shy, came to ask me if I was an actor.

For that man who sat next to me while I was looking at the national palace and who told me why he was visiting Portugal, without any introduction. He's from Dubaï and he gave me his email address, saying he would organize a trip for me when I get to Dubaï. All of that in six minutes and a half.

For that Thai girl, I met two hours later, who asked at what time the metro stopped. I brought her safely to the next metro station without even knowing her name.

And Portugal is strange because here, girls think I'm funny...

It takes all sorts of people to make a world.