GOING JACK

From Ilha Grande to the Angra Dos Reis bus station where we were unable to get tickets on the midday bus to Sao Paulo and beyond. Three hours to kill now added to the 20 we would spend on the two busses to our destination and there was nothing for it but to sit it out over sugar drinks and cheese-based snacks.

20 hours on a bus isn’t so bad and I managed to get plenty of sleep in despite the excessively loud smooching going on between the young couple on the back seat. Real smackers they were and very distracting too. I never thought anyone would be able to produce a kiss capable of being heard over the volume of a fully extended iPod. Turns out someone can. Passionate people these Brazilians.

Due to a combination of misinformation and poor research we arrived in Sao Paulo at 10pm unsure when the last connecting bus of the day would be departing for Florianopolis. Anxious to avoid an unwelcome overnight stay in the city, Alan and I were among the first off the bus, grabbing our bags and making for the ticket windows without a backward glance. A bus was leaving in ten minutes and we could be on it. The only problem was that our four friends from Ilha Grande were nowhere to be seen. As Alan handed over the cash for the tickets we shared a look.

“They’ll make it”, I said, looking doubtfully at the large clock hanging from the ceiling of the bus terminal.

“Yeah” Alan said hefting his backpack onto his shoulders and pocketing his change. Then, having validated each other’s selfish instincts, we made for the bus at a trot.

We made it with seconds to spare and any guilt we might have felt was quickly ameliorated by the air-conditioning and deep, comfortable seats of the coach. As the bus made its way south we both reclined and basked in the glory of a perfectly timed connection.

Tellingly, we were both slightly miffed the next morning when we arrived half-starved and nearly desiccated to find that our callously abandoned companions were just 45 minutes behind us; fed, watered and fully refreshed after making good use of an oh-so-brief but oh-so-handy 30 minute lay-over.

I on the other hand had had nothing but a cheese ball and packet of “Peanuts Japonaise” in the preceding 20 hours and was feeling a little grouchy. Bad result. Bad karma.

Alan told me later that our mad, selfish scramble to the connecting bus in Sao Paulo would be called ‘going Jack’ in the Army, as in “I’m all right Jack”.

Apt.

That is all,

Dale 'Jack' Atkinson