Long Road

As I sit here listening to the chatter around me, I struggle with the challenges of the hours and days ahead. My youngest son, only 10, sleeps soundly beside me. Restful in the knowledge that his mother is capable of taking care of him. The other two are further back and undoubtedly enjoying the in flight movies that appear on the little screens on the seat backs in front of them. We have traveled before, just the four of us, but this will be the first time going overseas, and the thought of leaving my husband for a month for such a distant place sends butterflies down my spine. We all are going to miss him, and he us, but he could not get away from things at work.

 

So many feelings flood me as I fly along creeping closer and closer to my destination. I am not nervous but for the unknown. The boys, who depend on me and look to me for guidance, seem more relaxed and at ease. They know I would do anything to keep them safe.

I also struggle with the fear of fitting in. So much has undoubtedly changed in nearly 20 years. I cannot wait to see the people who were so important, so instrumental in my young life! People with whom I fell out of contact with. I can only hope they can forgive my absence. It was a different world back then. We did not have internet or cell phones. We could not friend one another on Facebook and a blog was unheard of. I want my children to understand this place, and absorb this culture as I did.

I look at my son now. Who knows what thoughts could be floating through his sleeping head. He is laying against me, not a care in the world. I am having trouble fitting my legs under the seat in front of me. Oh to be 10 again, and walk around on legs so short, that fit neatly under you when you wish, and to be able to fold in half. I run my fingers through his hair and cup his chin for just a minute. He does not register my gaze and remains fast asleep. Traveling with them is more complicated than going it alone. So much more to think about, worry and plan. But I am excited to be sharing this with them, so I let my hand fall and feel the weight of his head against my shoulder. I could not have left them home if I had wanted to. This is too important for me, for them to see this place, to know these people. This very child told me just as we were taking off that he had to keep reminding himself that all of this was not a dream, but real life, real time.

We arrive in the airport of Sao Paulo on time, 9:30 am, after “sleeping” only fitfully all night. We gather our belongings and make our way to customs. The line is long and we are near the end, okay we are last in line. This is another reality of traveling with children. Things are slower, you have to wait longer, and you have to make sure you have all of your things. As we approach the baggage line, once we are clear of the customs counter, my precious little angel looks at me and asks if I have his bag with his DSI inside. We are loaded down with luggage, each boy carries a 55L backpack and I have three pieces of luggage. I look at him and tell him that I have all three of them to watch after, and that he was responsible for his bag. Immediately tears the size of Texas begin to well up in his eyes. No screaming, he is 10 after all, just a look of such disappointment, like life itself has ceased to have sunshine in it. He has left the bag on the plane. So there we stood, half way between our two lines, and frozen in time, stopped by the loss of one piece of luggage.  A small thing in my mind, but his entire life. I step out of line, grab an attendant and as if I had never left, begin to converse with her in Portuguese. She calls the people cleaning the plane and an hour and a half later, we are happily making our way toward the baggage check station, lost bag in hand. Lesson learned for all, keep track of each and every item, as mom has her hands full keeping track of three boys. Not sure the lesson will stick with the other two boys, but I know my youngest will never forget.

 As we make our way upstairs and out into the open air of this large Brazilian airport, I am struck almost motionless. I have no cell phone, I am not getting a signal. I have made arrangements to meet up with a friend of mine, but I only have her address. I do not trust that I should hand the address over to the taxi driver. I want to locate the route on a map just to make sure. I look and search and each boy follows, like chicks behind their mother hen. I make my way to the store and buy a phone card. I get 6 minutes, or maybe I get 20. It's not clear and the clerk has no time for me. I should probably explain that my Portuguese is rather rusty, but I speak with almost no accent. This tends to give people the false impression that I can quickly understand what they are saying to me. I take the card and depart for a bank of phones, but for lack of knowledge of area codes, cannot figure out how to use the card and call my friend. I did manage to call a wrong number, so I leave this activity with the knowledge that something worked, but also with a fear that I had the wrong number. I then begin to look around for an outlet for my computer, which will not work if not plugged in. So much for all of my planning. The boys and I walk twice around the luncheonette station and finally sit down at a table feeling a little more than defeated. We proceed to have our first meeting. They looking at me with just a bit of shock, after all, this is so foreign for them, so different than what they are so used to. Not just the surroundings, but mom at a loss for what to do. I tell them that I am stuck. We could catch a taxi, and just show up, but we are late, and there is a chance that my friend will not be home. We only have so much in local currency, so if we end up at her house, with no one home, we might be stuck. The other option was to simply take a taxi to the bus station, but then we would be there all day (and I mean another 11 hours) until our bus would depart. They looked at me, and as usual, my oldest decided for them. “Lets just get a taxi and go, we will be fine.” I smile and wish to God I had his confidence in my abilities. I am all too familiar with the dangers of this country and as much as I want to believe that everyone in general is good at heart, I know it is not always so black and white. “Okay,” I resolve, and we gather our thoughts and belongings and head for the door. Just as we are about to step out, we pass a desk and I immediately am compelled to ask the woman for help. She explains to me that I am dialing too many numbers, duh, and we make our way back to the bank of phones and manage to call my friend. She is so relieved to hear from us. She has been worried, as all of this has put us behind by 2 hours. She knows my predicament, and tells me that the taxi ride will take an hour and to not worry! Some things do not need to be explained... she also has three children.

Confidence restored, we make our way out to purchase the taxi fare. Its not like it used to be, one of many things I will discover has changed over time. I pay a woman and she gives me a ticket, then we are escorted to a line of taxis and assigned a very friendly looking gentlemen to take us to our destination. We have a nice ride through the streets of Sao Paulo. So many sights and smells fill my senses that I am overwhelmed with emotion almost as soon as we leave the airport. I want to take it all in.  The boys are seated snugly in the back seat, each looking with awe at the vast city around them. Sao Paulo is the third largest city on Earth and can feel like it goes on forever. I am immediately startled by the motorcycle driver that pulls up between our taxi and the truck in the next lane. “They do this here,” the driver explains and he chuckles at my surprise. I laugh and then begin to notice all the motorcycles and trucks. “We like lines and order back home,” I explain to him, “here it seems as though everyone just jumps up to go at the very same moment”.

We arrive safely an hour later at my friend's house. I have never met her face to face, but I know her through Facebook. I am excited and as she comes down to meet us, so is she. It is a relief to find ourselves in the home of a friend, amongst people who we feel like we know. The boys play with her children and begin to watch cartoons in Portuguese. So much is going on. She and her husband have a business out of their home, but have taken the day off to spend with us. Its nice to sit and talk and as lunch approaches familiar aromas fill the air of the small apartment. The boys are happy to be eating a meal, and find, much to their surprise that they like what they are eating. After lunch, we head to a park. It begins to rain, and with the dark clouds comes thoughts of the next leg of our journey. We are only half way after all, but I am struck with a feeling of wanting to just stay with her. Fear more than anything keeps me rooted to my spot. She explains that she will help us get to the bus station. I immediately hand the reins of responsibility over to her, after all, she knows this place, I do not. As we gather our things to prepare for the next leg, it begins to pour. Rain is coming down in sheets as we make our way to the Metro station blocks from my friend's apartment. My youngest has started to lag behind and I am forced to take his bag from him. My friend is helping carry our bags too, so his load can be lightened. As we make our way to the Metro, it starts to seem very familiar to me. I am in awe of how similar this station is to the subway system in NYC. We make our way down 4 levels of escalators, deep within the earth. It is very full of people and humid and sticky. We each take turns bracing ourselves against the weight of our load and the push of the throng of people. It becomes clear that we cannot risk getting separated by the crown as we change trains 4 different times to arrive at the bus station. I follow her each time and the boys follow me. She is used to looking for her three and helps keep mine connected and together so no one gets lost. The boys are as thankful for the arrival at the bus station as I am. They finally get to take off their packs. They look exhausted and my middle son, 11, is falling asleep as he sits leaning against his load. I feel for them, and I am so proud. They have not complained once, but have followed all of my instructions to the letter. I am so happy.

We load the bus with such expectations. The buses here are nothing like the Greyhounds back home. They are luxurious and have rests for your feet. We are instructed to board, and I give my hugs and kisses to my new found friend. I am so thankful for her kindness and generosity that I cannot begin to put words to it. If not for her, we would have had a much more difficult time getting to the bus station, and ultimately to our final destination! I wave to her from the door as she heads off to take the metro back home and board to find the boys seated already and playing with the seat controls. I instruct them to buckle their seat belts and they comply ready to be on the road again. All three fall fast asleep as the bus lumbers along the road for Maringa. I am exhausted and finally relax into my seat too. It has been a long 24 hours and I laugh to myself as I realize for the first time, I am back. I am going home.



Comments

[Janel]

Thank you for posting, Candice! It was a joy to read; I really felt like I was on that journey with you. Miss you much and so very appreciative of this literary connection! Keep it up and continue reveling in this experience...