To read the previous day’s (6) adventures, click here
Day 7:
I wake up to a choir of heavenly voices in attendance as I left the world of slumber and journey onwards to waking reality.
“Who was eating something crinkly last night? I swear something in the dark hours of this morning.” Rachel asks.
I guiltily push my Mcdonalds wrapper further beneath my pillow and feign waking up as someone who didn’t destroy a family-sized McFeast last night.
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We decided the best way to wake up and enjoy the day with a nice refreshing round of caipirinhas, of which the hostel was famous for. I’ll tell you right now, it’s difficult to go back to regular boring coffee before work now these days.
After a slight bit of inebriated antics, part of which included me tipsily agreeing to go on a late lunch date with a man who slid into my DMs on Instagram after the Lesbian Bloco party back in day Three. After a group decision on the day’s outfit – for once something that covered my torso and wasn’t 80% glitter – the girls went off to do some shopping. I decided that since I’m a week into this month-long journey I should probably plan the rest of the trip that had the words “Get into Rio for Carnival” written in my diary and little else.
I open up a map on my phone of South America and get down to business and feel immediate concern from the sheer size of the land. Why didn’t anyone warn me that it might take more than a month to see all the wonders of this continent?
My eyes wander down to the country of Argentina; where Alana and Simone had left a few days ago to go back home. I had received an open invite from them to visit during one of our cocktail chugging sessions.
That drunkenly made promise was good enough for me – To Beaunos Aires! Skyscanner and Bookings.com here I come.
I absolutely have to see Machu Picchu while I’m this side of the world – off to Peru afterwards then! Add that to my Slyscanner and hostel search algorithm.
And then that leaves me some time to still visit Bolivia and end off by Brazil again before heading home.
I feel like a travel agent Rainman as I work hard to book and plan all the necessary flights and accommodations, with my notebooks on one side and my red pen (that I accidentally stole from the previous hostel) in my other hand.
An hour and a half later I have it all sorted out and planned for the next two weeks. If only my exceedingly disappointed Geography teacher from High School could see me at work now. He would probably ask why I was doing all this in a floral speedo.
At last, I’ve earned myself a trip to the beach and to enjoy a refreshing swim to wash off the brain sweat from all this planning, and to make myself fresh for my hot date later.
As I arrive back in the Hostel my eye is caught by a pamphlet on “what to do around Rio” which brings me to the crashing realisation that I had been here a full week and I had done nothing but go to street parties, chill on beaches, hook up with beautiful men and laugh with friends over tasty dishes and colourful drinks. I was wasting this trip!
I organized with the front desk for a full-day tour. This started at six in the morning, which made me re-question the whole deal. But then I saw Christ The Redeemer side-eyeing me from the pamphlet and I was back on board. I clutched the pamphlet close to my chest like rosemary beads as I made my way back to my room to make sure I was ready for the date with InstagramMan. And later I would call him InstaMan.
Because I made sure to get out of that date as soon as possible.
I’ll skip ahead because it turns out that just because you shared a beautiful moment of touching tongues and looking deep into each other’s eyes while in a foreign and magical country, does not mean sparks will fly in a different setting. Maybe it was because I shared that moment with a few hundred-thousand others that same day.
Or maybe it was because the conversation over coffee was halting, shallow and more painful than a taint wax.
I knew it wasn’t the language that was the main barrier – ShortyMcMuscles had shown me that wasn’t necessary.
After one coffee that wouldn’t seem to cool down fast enough in order to drink without scalding my mouth, I called it quits and told him I had to go meet some friends for a work project (Yea I don’t think he bought it either). I left filled with regret and a sore tongue – for all the wrong reasons this time.
As I walked back to my hostel, bathing in the warm afterglow of the evening sun’s rays, clouds filled with violet bruises gathered overhead to accompany me home.
At least now I had some interesting company.
I made it back just in time as the rain began to seriously try to gain my attention. I had the dorm room to myself and I decided I had earned the right to a little RnR. I fired up the Netflix and kindle book, settling in peacefully while the rain made tattoos on the rooftop. I had loved the party activities the last few days had presented but I was a solitary character by nature and my social batteries needed recharging.
A few hours passed and still no sign of my wayward dorm mates. I hoped they had found sufficient shelter before the rain found them. As I read by the dim light of my kindle, a more insistent light and ding emanated from my phone.
I was receiving quite a few Grindr messages at this stage – something about falling rain or the mere presence of any water whatsoever made Brazilians go into a higher level of libido that was endearing…in a rutting sort of way
A handsome older gentleman, with the help of my google translator, requested my company for the evening. It was a little dark at this stage and I wasn’t too sure about heading out just for some head, but I was feeling cooped up and my little brain was starting to take over – he had been denied for the longest time since I had arrived in this country; an entire two days.
I received his location and returned a written agreement that I would head over. The rain had stopped during our conversation, playing along as the ideal wingman. I hopped up from the bed, freshened up, and walked out of the hostel and down the street.
As I walked down towards a part of the city I hadn’t really explored before I found myself navigating through some dimly lit alleyways. This adventure felt seedier than the others, but also maybe more exciting? I had to keep telling myself that adrenaline was fun.
Some homeless guys watched me walk past, silent as predators who just caught a scent. Further on was a man who seemed to be talking to himself as shadowy figures watched from behind a translucent curtain of glowing embers within a trashcan fire.
I arrived outside the location that was displayed on my phone. On google maps, the glowing red dot on my screen is as sightly as a bloody pimple. The little blue man icon and I are both frozen still. I looked up to see a dilapidated apartment building with several poorly lit windows lighting up its side, portals offering visions into the homes of whoever lived here.
One such window had a man’s silhouette framed behind a thin curtain. The laws of probability said it likely wasn’t the outline of the guy I was meeting up with, but that didn’t stop me from giving myself the shivers imagining someone on the other side, watching me through a subtle gap in the curtains, licking his lips which hid rotten teeth still scarlet-stained from the flesh of previous Grindr hook-ups-
Suddenly my phone flashed with a message from one of my friends back home: “Hey man, you available to talk? Having a bit of a crisis…”
Oh fuck yes I was.
I casually panic-strolled back home. As I passed the homeless predators they called out something to me in harsh Portuguese. I hastily replied “Eu nao Sugar Portuguese!” as I speed-walked through the valley of shadows, fearing all kinds of evil.
I got back home and quietly sneaked back into my room, mascara tracks running thickly down my cheeks from my near-death experience. Thank the stars my friend had messaged me about his [checks phone] “Relationship that was falling apart after five years.”
After a long deep chat about my run-in with Brazilian Jeffry Dahmer and the roving gangs of murderous hobos who had only rape and cannibalism on their mind, we managed to squeeze in a few minutes discussion on his “serious” problem before I ended the conversation to retire for the night for my big tour tomorrow around the city.
As I fell asleep I felt a nagging sensation in my brain on the phrase I had yelled at the Homeless Predators just after I escaped the sex dungeon where this story almost ended.
I booted up my translation app.
Eu nao Falah Portuguese: I don’t speak Portuguse.
Eu nao Sugar Portuguese: I dont suck Portuguse.
Well, know I have to go to bed knowing the last thing I said to anyone tonight was a lie. Lovely.
