From Argentina to Brazil, hopefully.

So I’m in the Northern part of Argentina, with a bag holding my sunscreen, some Argentine pesos, my binoculars and a pear. And I’m on a bus to Brazil, apparently, though I don’t know if they will let me in.

Theoretically, this bus will take me to the Brazilian side of the Iguazu falls. Theoretically. And I say theoretically because at this rate I am not sure we will ever get there. We left the bus station 13 minutes ago and we have probably moved 50 feet. Traffic is impossibly slow and also the driver just stopped when he saw his friend on the side of the road. Pulled the bus right over. Opened the door, his friend hopped on. They exchanged a kiss on the cheek and some casual conversation for a few minutes. Talking about the weather, maybe? About what they did on the weekend? Who knows. Finally the man gets off. The bus lurches to a start. I might make it to Brazil. At some point today maybe. I’m not even sure I’ll be let in. Do Canadians need a Visa?

I’ve never been to Brazil. I wish I could use the google machine but my phone has been on Airplane Mode since I arrived in Argentina two months ago. I spend a minute regretting my choices before I realize there’s not much I can do about it anyway.

I look around the bus. This is a commuter bus. There’s a family across from me, with an adorable little girl in a stroller with big eyes and chubby cheeks speaking Spanish better than I ever will. There’s a guy in camouflage pants with one of those giant telescopic lenses for taking high-quality photographs. There are two girls with dreds carrying the biggest backpacks I’ve ever seen, holding massive hoola-hoop style hammocks or something, I’m not sure what they are but these girls look like they haven’t showered in weeks. One is wearing black platform-style army boots and spandex shorts. They don’t talk. They don’t look local. They sort of look like they might be part of a traveling circus. And there are a number of other passengers, nondescript or just less stand-out-ish. We’re maybe 20 people total.

I look out the window and notice we’re actually moving faster than the cars around us. Like a lot faster. As in the cars aren’t moving, because this bus is incapable of moving quickly. Yes, it’s a parking lot out there and for the first time since I got on this Rio Uruguay bus (which is a weird name for a bus company taking people from Argentina into Brazil), I am actually happy to be on it.

Then I realize we’re about to get to immigration, and the feeling is gone. In its place I now have a racing heart and very sweaty palms.

The driver pulls over beside an old, official-looking building with the Argentine flag painted on the wall. The doors of the bus open, and everyone stands up. Bus driver says something in Spanish. Everyone gathers their things and gets off the bus. I decide to follow them. We wait in line, and when it’s my turn I manage to pull out my passport and hand it to the lady. She scans it and hands it back to me. They don’t use stamps any more in this country but I’m pretty sure she just digitally stamped me out of the country. I get back on the bus with everyone else. “Todo bien?” says the bus driver. “Si,” I say.

Once everyone’s back on, the driver walks up the aisle counting the number of people on the bus. Satisfied, I guess, that no one was detained, we set off again, passing over a massive river which I think is the divider between Argentina and Brazil. I exhale. Half way there. The next time we stop it’s outside a building with Brazilian insignia. A couple of police officers with guns cross in front of us. Driver says something, again I don’t understand. The doors open. I look around. The baby in the stroller grins at me. A guy gets on, he looks lost. The two girls from the circus disappear under their massive bags and tumble off the bus. No one else moves.

I hold my breath and decide to disappear into my seat. If I don’t move, I become the chair. The doors remain open for an impossibly long 30 seconds. 60 seconds. Driver says something else, looks around. I am the chair. I am the chair. Doors close. We’re moving again. Did I just do something illegal? Am I allowed to be here? Will I be allowed out of the country if they find out I never declared my presence do begin with? I don’t know. I am a chair. And I guess it’s too late now anyway.

These waterfalls better be worth it.