Getting There is Half The Fun

The Marriott at Sao Paulo International Airport is like most every other; it has sleeping rooms and a lobby and a shuttle bus to get travelers back and forth and a concierge lounge for Platinum Members. In that lounge they serve breakfast and cocktails in the evening in an environment conducive to reading or relaxing or conducting a small business meeting. I gained lifetime Platinum status with Marriott a long time ago; according to my Marriott frequent guest profile, I have slept 2,136 nights (not a typo) in their hotels. If that’s not Platinum, I don’t know what is. But don’t over react to this wonderful amenity. Like most amenities, after a while it becomes routine and that is the case here. Perhaps the most valuable benefit here was at the hand of two people at the front desk who translated the Portuguese—the language spoken in Brazil—for me so that I could print a boarding pass prior to arriving at the airport proper. That saves a couple of long lines and will go down as the high point of my stay at the airport Marriott. Thanks, you two. But I get ahead of myself.

I’m awake before my alarm, shower and breakfast in the aforementioned concierge lounge and bussed (I am the sole passenger on the 8:00 departure) to GRU Terminal 2, through security, and settled into the Priority Pass Lounge (free with one of my credit cards) awaiting the time when I need to walk to gate 213. There is more breakfast, more espresso, more waiting here but all is well; anticipation has me firmly in its grasp.

Using the Priority Pass Lounge free WiFi, I text with B4, post yesterday’s blog entry and then make my way to the gate. My carrier, GOL Airlines, flies mostly Boeing 737-800 aircraft—just the same as does Southwest in the U.S. GOL does offer a premium economy type section with a tiny bit of extra leg room and priority boarding and pre-reserved seats—not much else—and I have opted for that. I am in 3C, an aisle seat. That is probably a logistical error because I suspect the view from the window would be enlightening—presuming there is minimal cloud cover.

All the signs are in Portuguese as are all the announcements, so I am in the dark about boarding procedures, but I know enough to look for what appears to be priority passengers and I join them. When one does not speak or read the language one can usually fake it by simply being observant and following the crowd. It turns out that I didn’t need to pay extra for the priority boarding—it is offered to all senior citizens which is defined by GOL as everybody over 60. That, of course, is and has been for quite some time, me.

It is an interesting time to travel internationally because most of the world is unhappy with the political stances taken by the administration of the current United States government. It is clear from newspaper front pages, magazine covers, billboards and the like that Brazilians are interested in three things: their own politics, U.S. politics and the world cup soccer tournament currently under way.

Yesterday, I wrote of the fact that I flew over Venezuela to get here and that there was a travel warning about Brazil, particularly around Brazil’s borders with many of its neighbors. To the north, Venezuela, of course, is in dire straits. There is no parallel in recent memory about the problems there. Inflation is running at 25,000% per year. That is not a typo. Nine out of ten people there are living in abject poverty. Venezuela was, until recently, an upper-middle income country boasting vast reserves of oil. During the early 2000s, the government borrowed against the value of that oil to create vast social programs. Then, the value of oil plummeted, the dictator died, and corruption exploded. The resulting change there was dramatic. To pay the debt, the government started printing money. Under Chavez, the government had already taken over quite a bit of private industry. No matter how bad it got in the U.S. in 2008, that is but a tenth of the size of what happened in Venezuela.

Inflation of their currency, the Bolivar, at 25,000% (compared to 2% for our dollar) is not easy to understand. The minimum wage in Venezuela is also the median wage. People got a 155% wage hike a couple of months ago. But, with prices going up many multiples of times faster, people were devastated. Wages are not enough to feed the wage earner let alone any dependents he or she may have; forget about clothing or housing.

Before, workers could earn enough to buy several dozen eggs per day; now they can afford only two eggs per day. A Big Mac would cost wages it takes a month and a half to earn. Result? The average Venezuelan lost 24 pounds last year. Crime is much worse there. It now reportedly has the highest murder rate in the world. Ten percent of the country’s population—3 million people—emigrated last year. Guess where some of them have attempted to come?

But, again, I digress.

We board a bit late, close the door ten minutes late, taxi ten minutes after that and are wheels up 17 minutes after that. Quite late but I am being met by a guide at my destination and am not stressed. As an aside, however, I quote this from a document provided me long ago by my tour company, Arcana Mundi: “Please land in Cuiabá no later than 12:30 pm; the group will leave no later than 2:00 pm. If your flight is delayed, you will have to pay for a separate, private transfer without a guide and most likely your driver will speak only Portuguese.” Our scheduled arrival was 11:05. With this delay, we should arrive by 11:30. I count here upon my old standby: The Russell Luck.

I have found no English language newspapers nor magazines—including the in-flight publication—so I have resorted to listening to podcasts to pass the delay minutes. The problem with podcasts is that those to which I subscribe talk about politics and the news of the day so they are downers. I need to switch to music but, somehow, my addiction to current events has an unbreakable hold on me.

Aboard GOL flight 1420 from Sao Paulo to Cuiabá there are a number of babies and toddlers who have formed an unofficial chorale (mostly sopranos and tenors) wailing call and respond refrains from ahead of me to behind. GOL offers me an expresso and some cookies in a bag—again, think Southwest Airlines style—and I decide to tune out my surroundings by writing these words. The lady ahead of me has fully reclined her seat and is restlessly trying to find a comfortable seating position while the gentlemen in the row behind me is watching a video without the benefit of headphones. We all get to hear the soundtrack. I am imagining an action film, perhaps with car chases or aircraft dogfights.

I suspect somewhere between the babies and recliners and video watchers are others who have signed up for the same adventure as have I; off to see jaguars. I look but cannot tell who they may be. I am more certain of those who are not in my group of adventurers. I will know if I am already among fellow adventurers soon enough.

It turns out that my choice of an aisle seat is fine. There is heavy cloud cover beneath us and almost every occupant of every window seat has placed their window shade in the closed position. Alone among readers of this blog, B4 will think, “Oh, he won’t like that.” She is correct. I see but a very few empty seats on this flight which is scheduled to last two hours. I had thought it to be an hour less. We have a time zone change which I had not realized nor anticipated.

The middle seat next to me is occupied so I am “elbows in” as I type, both ahead (the recliner in row 2) and on my left (him) and my right (the flight attendants and their service cart). I relish the extra couple of inches for my knees. But, when given lemons, make lemonaide.

I ask the guy in the middle seat if he’ll take a picture out the window for me—mostly hand signals because I don’t know if he speaks English. In pretty fine English, he asks me where I a from. I tell him and he says he went to school in San Diego. Small world. It turns out that he lives in Sao Paulo but farms soybeans and corn here in Cuiabá. Naturally we start talking about tariffs and the global nature of soybeans and corn. He exports a tiny bit but since there are no railroads from Cuiabá to a port it is expensive to move his crop overseas. We talk global trade which leads to politics—both his and mine—and more. Friends for life, we two. Or, at least until we land whereupon we shake hands and bid farewell.

Discovered long ago by browsing the web, my travel advisor for this journey is Arcana Mundi. They have in advance provided me with a document about this morning’s travel which reads as follows: “24 June 2018: São Paulo – Cuiabá – SouthWild Pantanal Lodge. Meet your guide at the Cuiabá airport, lunch and depart from Cuiabá by 2 pm for a 3-hour-long drive in a closed, air-conditioned van to the SouthWild Pantanal Lodge (SWP) . Trip Advisor lists the SWP as the #1 wildlife lodge on the entire Transpantaneira Road. Stops to observe wildlife along the Transpantaneira. Arrive at the SWP between 5 and 7 pm. Dinner. Overnight in the SWP or similar. L, D.”

As you can imagine, this is the sort of journey where you must—absolutely must—work through a tour provider. Arcana Mundi has good reviews on line and I am about to find out whether or not those reviews are accurate. I will know a bit more when I see my guide at the Cuiabá airport. From experience I can relate one true fact: when one arrives at an airport in a foreign land where English is not primary or, perhaps, even evident, the sight of another member of the human race holding a sign with either your name or the name of your group on it is most reassuring. The absence of that creates instantaneous anxiety even among experienced travelers such as yours truly.

Sam is holding the sign: PAUL MARTIN. Close enough. (for those who don’t know, Martin is my middle name. We are waiting for Gene who is also on this flight and then we will be off. Gene shows up shortly and away we go with Iris driving so now it is four of us. Gene and I are the total number of people on this tour. Perfect.

We drive through Cuiabá and then down the paved highway for a long haul and then down the washboard Trans Pantaneira Highway for another long haul on the way to SouthWild Pantanal Lodge. Birds galore, caiman all around, critters and more critters but no people to speak of. It is remarkable how few humans we encounter. It is Sunday and nobody is out but then maybe nobody is around either. I soak it all in but this is not great photo opportunity time as we are still traveling.

Gene is a hoot. More about him later.