The old man, responsible for the reception in the early morning, looks a bit shrivelled in his pijamas and tired eyes.

We exchange sleepy looks. He greets me with a hoarse voice, I answer with the same, because it is only half past five. All I want to do is hand over the key and make my way to the bus station. The way there, which I tried out yesterday, is barely seven minutes long, so it's actually a piece of cake that I can easily manage even with a backpack.

However, and it quickly becomes clear to me, the outside door is locked and must be opened by the reception.

That's a small thing, but I didn't expect the particular dangers of a Brazilian morning.

 

The Dangers of the Brazilian twilight Zone

Because the man looks at me pityingly, raises a warning finger. Not at this time, my friend! It's way too dangerous!

Too dangerous? Why? That I might get lost?

But my joke meets with deaf ears. In spite of the fast-track Brazilian language, I understand what he means. The danger of being attacked in the early morning twilight is high. Really? The naive simpleton from peaceful Switzerland cannot imagine such a thing.

So the guy, whose caution and persuasiveness have taken all my resistance, calls a cab and advises me not to leave the house until it has arrived.

Wow! Where did I end up here? The South Bronx or downtown Chicago?

But of course he is right. It is actually still quite dark, the streets are deserted, so exactly the right conditions to relieve a somewhat stupid traveller of his belongings.

The taxi stops in front of the hotel, the driver waves to me, apparently preferring to stay safe.

 

Open Landscape

The bus station, however, is already teeming with life, my bus is overdue, so I eat a bite and drink a coffee. The vital ritual in the morning, welcoming the day with a full stomach, should not be missing today.

The bus is more or less empty, including me we are only about ten rather tired looking poor souls.

But the bus is great: lots of space for the legs, everything modern and clean, when I think of India ...

First class bus
First class bus

The city seems to drag on endlessly. Well, is one of the larger cities in Brazil, capital of the southern state of Rio Grande do Sul, the entire metropolitan area includes more than 30 cities and counts about four million inhabitants. So it takes time until the endless ugly industrial buildings are left behind and we finally reach the open countryside.

 

From Porto Alegre to Chapeco

If one expects meadows with grazing cows - far from it! The cows can be counted on two hands during the entire journey. Trees and bushes, growing wildly, remind us of earlier conditions of the landscape. In between a few scattered huts and houses.

 

A few hats and nothing else
A few poor shacks
Is this the rest of the jungle?
Are these the remains of the jungle?

The ride is meditative, you sink into all kinds of thoughts, the roar of the engine contributes to the soundtrack. Sometimes weird trees pop up, I have to look on the internet. They are Aurakaria, looking like oversized umbrellas or lampshades, very high (I estimate up to 50 meters). The branches at the top stretch horizontally in a circle and thus create the aforementioned impression of a lampshade.

 

Aucaria Trees

The Araucarias are evergreen conifers, its trunks might be 30-40 meters high, in rare cases even up to 50 meters. They can live up to 600 years. I fear, however, that these few remaining specimens will fall victim to the axe of the Brazilians, eager to deforest, just like everything else.

 

A green desert

"Everything that is against nature has no permanence in the long run." (Charles Darwin)

It takes less than half an hour before something appears that makes me speechless and angry.

The trees and bushes and huts have disappeared, displaced, replaced, absorbed by a seemingly endless green sea stretching for hundreds of kilometers to the horizon. As far as the eye can see, there are waves, sometimes dark green, sometimes a little lighter, across plains and gentle hills.

I first think of tea cultivation, it reminds me of the hills in South India where colorfully dressed women pluck the tea leaves, but I doubt it somehow.

This, whatever it is, is reminiscent of English lawns, as idiotic landlords love them even at home, just as lifeless, just as a sad desert, homogeneous, displacing all other life, destroying it.

The insight comes with a delay.

Soy! Naturally.

Besides the USA, Brazil is the world's largest producer of soybeans. What was formerly growing here has disappeared, flattened by an agricultural industry that has no relationship with nature, only the return on investment matters.

What remains is a monotonous desert, a sad, boring sight, interrupted only by occasional, unfortunately very rare sections where we drive through a kind of jungle, a memory of what it might have been like before. And for these soybeans a large part of the original forest has been cleared and is still being cleared. Sad ...

There's one wish - a quick escape!

The sight is not only depressing for the mind, the short night has to be paid tribute to, and so I always nod off, just like all the other passengers, not a word, no laughter, just an occasional quiet snore.

The bus stops from time to time in some villages at the edge of the world, one or two passengers take a seat, make themselves comfortable and fall asleep. After a few hours, a stop at a restaurant, vinte e cinco minutos stay.

My cash reserves in Reais (the plural of real, the local currency) are shrinking, so I pay with my credit card like everyone else here in Brazil, even if it's only a few centimes. Of course I'm the only foreigner far and wide, and when I don't understand anything at the cash register, I get curious looks from all sides. Again, where the hell did I end up here?

 

Chapeco - at the edge of the world

The rest is quickly told. We approach through more endless soy fields Chapeco, , a city at the seemingly end of the world that probably not even the Brazilians themselves have a clue about.

And yet, then it finally occurs to me why the name is familiar - Chapecoense. The city's football club, which became tragically famous in XNUMX when the plane crashed on the way to Colombia and most of the team was killed.

With my very last coins (the credit card doesn't work with taxis) I let myself be driven to my hotel and I have to admit that the 'Almasty' is a good choice.

However, the next bank or at least an ATM machine to finally get money can be found exclusively in the shopping center, and this is at least 6 km from here. Ouch! But we postpone this problem until tomorrow, the night bus to Foz do Iguacu leaves after 22.00, so there is enough time to kill the day ...

 

Mileage: 1459

Matching Song: Pearl Jam - Quick Escape

And here the journey continues ...

 

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