24 DEC - 26 DEC 2011
My few days leading up to departure on Christmas Eve had been some of the most surreal of my relatively short existence. By extension, my time in Brazil was going to be characterised by an emotional transgression that for me had always surpassed the limits of what anyone else would consider normal. 'Watcha going to do?', when it comes to emotions I've got to say, I think I'm far removed from your average bear, but I'm OK with that and I was more than OK with the circumstances that had somehow attached themselves to my internal fabric prior departure.
Christmas Eve was a standard affair in the Elisher household but at an earlier start time to what we were usually accustomed due to our designated Emirates international conduit departing Charles-Kingsford at 9:45pm that evening. Now for anyone that doesn't know, Emirates are based in Dubai, so if you're just now starting to run the logistical app in your mind then don't bother. The Sydney - Dubai - Sao Paulo route IS the LONG way to get to Brazil! I know that, but somehow the price for the long way significantly cheaper than the most direct routes to Rio, by a substantial margin. I thank my research skills for that otherwise this write up could very well have been How we got to St.Petersburg rather then how we ended up finding our way to the River of January. It was going to be a flight option that both Frichot and Jordan would hate me for some 33hrs later when we finally landed in Brasil.
As flight EK413 thundered down highway 1, i.e., the main north-south runway that assists these birds of coordinated aerial mass movement get 'high and wide', the kiddies in the cabin had already commenced their ritualistic wailing. From what I've noted in my recent years of travel this appears to be a time honoured 'altruistic' activity undertaken by the general populous of individuals under 5 years of age whose objective it is to warn all others of the imminent doom that is lurking, or rather just waiting, in a type of suspended animation within the confines of the cabin. Somehow as adults we never quite get around to understanding the fear conveyed in these shrill cries but have always associated them with the pain caused by the pressure adjustments in the inner ear as the plane ascends. From my studies however this is not the case! After listening to these cries, when they commence and the orchestrated symphony, there appear to be complex communications between the bambini that goes something like this;
Wailing kid 1 - 'Whoa, we're traveling really fast! Oh my God, this huge thing is lifting off the ground, I think I'm going to shit myself!!'
Wailing kid 2 - 'Oh man, I think I'm going to shit myself!!!'
Wailing kid 3 - 'Yeah, I know I'm going to shit myself'
Wailing kid 4 - 'I totally shit myself! Man, I shit myself bad, oh I can't believe it!'
Wailing kids 1 & 2 - 'Oh that dude shit himself! We're all going to shit ourselves, we're doomed!'
Frichot or Mr FML when it comes to air travel is just like a mosquito zapper in these situations. Somehow how these little turd busters are always so strategically placed around Frichot that when the chorus commences you just now that the prime position for its appreciation will be in the very seat that Jetson is occupying. Once the head shaking started and once the manic seat rocking intensified I just knew that the next 15hrs to Dubai would have him exiting his right mind somewhere high over the Indian Ocean. I offered my mate a Buddhist like blessing and wished him well in his search for a Zen like state but I knew the realities, I knew the route ahead and I knew that he didn't have any Xanax freely available (not for himself but to hand out to the kids), he was as they say on the slopes of Everest, In the death zone, and nobody can assist you there, not a soul!
I had on the other hand taken what I felt was the more audacious challenge and that was to occupy the seat next to Janelle.......for 15hrs! Now to call JJ a talkaholic would be liking call Charlie Sheen a casual user, we both know that just ain't so. On the other hand I'm more of your counter punching conversationalist, I don't mind listening more than talking but this to me was going to be my own type of moonshot. My masterstroke however, and the key to my defensive arsenal is my ability to sleep on any form of transport. Once there's movement and I'm locked in for a journey them I magically commence my travels through ethereal lands for what ends up being hours, literally hours. I'm uncertain of how I manage this but all I know is that after the supper service had been completed, the lights dimmed and the cabin settled, I was dialed in to what must have been 30+ playings of the Rumours album - I was hostage to my internal air travel zombie.
Dubai International Airport - U.A.E - Frichot in disguise, Speedball is just that big in the U.A.E
Just under 15hrs later we were following our glide path into Dubai International. There we were, half the distance to our destination, halfway around the world and in an airport on Christmas morning. You just know that in a situation such as that, with 5hrs between flights and then 15hrs from Dubai to Sao Paulo, the only obligation you have as a traveler is to find a bar and drink. That's realistically the only way that you can rock Christmas Spirit authentically when you're locked away in transit. If there was a Facebook page for 'I Drinking whilst in transit' then somehow I'd find a way to be giving it two thumbs up!
EK261 - only 14hrs to go - Dubai International Airport - U.A.E
Our ride
I don't remember much of the flight from Dubai down to Sao Paulo, I slept for most of the way, much to the chagrin of my accomplices. Some 14hrs of quite time with Fleetwood Mac and half baked attempts at watching Senna on 'ICE' entertainment, seemed kind of appropriate considering we were going to be landing in his home town.I have it in my mind that I attempted to watch in four times and failed on all occasions. Somehow I had lucid dreams of F1 and grand failure all across the Atlantic, kind of disconcerting when you think back to Air France flight 447 from Rio, and oh yeah, Frichot's premonitions of frolicking in the water after what he imagined to be a plane crash.
'Merry Freakin' Christmas Jeston' - photo 1 of the 'Jet sleeps through Brazil' series - Serhs Executive Hotel - Sao Paulo - Brasil
Somehow we all survived the 35hr torture test to Sao Paulo, some better than others. Arriving late on Christmas day we were dishevelled, mentally broken and in need of a place to lay our hats, because for that night, we were going to be calling the Serhs Executive our home. Oddly we all managed to escape the clutches of the hotel in direct pursuit of a good 'ole fashioned Christmas dinner, but where to find one when you're not exactly in the city centre and in one of the most Catholic countries on earth? Certainly it was going to be a somewhat fruitless attempt in the barren wasteland of the burbs of Christmas central? So you would thing in any case. Magically, in charmed, Christmas miracle type of manner we stumbled just a few blocks into a hotel that had majestically set up a buffet for what they anticipated to be hundreds of people.When your three heroes walked into the scene we automatically doubled the attendance, with the other people present being the wait staff. It was odd and amusing, in a way that a Phonsovan hotel room is cavernous and soulless.
Downtown Guarulhos - Sao Paulo -Brasil
The New York of the southern hemisphere - Sao Paulo -Brasil
Sao Paulo -Brasil
Turning the page on Christmas Eve the next morning we headed down to the main bus station in Sao Paulo and jumped ourselves a ride into Rio. Originally the plan had been to fly internally but a few logistical issues had us on a 4hr meander through the back blocks of Brasil. I was good with that failed opportunity, I don't mind losing three hours for the sake of losing my sanity at take off, although, I almost did lose my sanity with Jetson whose attempt to exchange a few dollars into reals nearly had us waving goodbye to our ride! Man, oh man, that would have been entertainment for the whole family to see.
On our way!
In any case, there we were, riding high and on our way to samba central. Rio and I were going to get acquainted, finally.
