ab 11.02.: Porto Alegre / RS

11.02.

today it isn't far. It's just under 200 km to Porto Alegre. The weather god is good to me. Scattered clouds in the blue sky, temperatures are bearable again, breakfast is as always rich with yogurt and oatmeal - let's get going.

Luna will miss me. We had two weeks to get used to each other.

Alexandre takes another photo of me and the Vespa, I say goodbye to his mother, whom I have grown fond of, and to the kitchen staff who will not forget me because I always brought my dishes to the kitchen out of old habit. They have never experienced this with any other guest.

The tires have enough air, the oil level has been checked, the tanks are full - I can start without delay. It is almost 10:00 am. I slowly bump over the cobbled street onto BR 470 and soon reach my travel speed.

The lighting already looks a bit autumn-like. It is August weather, which, like in our country, comes with hot days, but also has fresh evenings in its luggage. In winter, it can even snow here at about 700 m.

I'm a bit concerned about the exhaust pipe. Its interior seems to be disintegrating - it sounds like a hissing...

I am making good progress and now I also have the answer to why the vineyards are not recognizable. The characteristic rows of grapevines cannot be seen because they are covered by leaves and grapes.

a taxi stand in Porto Alegre...

during a short break, a car stops next to me. Two slightly older youngsters are sitting in it. The passenger only has eyes for the Vespa. He immediately recognizes that I am from Germany and speaks good English. He asks me about my route, and when I mention Porto Alegre, he tells me about a Lambretta club in Santa Maria (about 20 km away) that I must visit. We exchange phone numbers, and he tells me that the club will contact me.

Nuovo Hamburgo - a suburb of Porto Alegre - greets me with a half-timbered house (?), with the Hamburg company Jungheinrich and other German names from trade and industry. But the South American way of life has prevailed. And in Porto Alegre, I am back in South America. The time in 'Europe' has given me enough strength to learn to appreciate the charm that surrounds me again.

eccentric city planning

Porto Alegre could be located directly on the Atlantic Ocean if it weren't for a land tongue that stretches for many kilometers in front of it.

My hostel is located in the suburb of Cristal, and somehow I hope that the urbanity of the city ends here and that I will be at the extended bay after only a few kilometers.

I am back at sea level and the temperatures are noticeable even with the wind. The merging works well, the smartphone holder holds and soon I am on the street where my hostel is supposed to be. But the search will probably take another hour because there is no house number 1410. At some point, I park the Vespa and ask. Yes, it is somewhere else. I have to continue on the street and then take the first left turn. This information does not help me - in the meantime, I am already in the 2000 range. The HB man is slowly coming out of his hiding place.

At some point, I have the idea to ask Google for the address, and the answer is laconic: 1490!

And once again, I benefit from the friendliness of the Brazilians. I must make a pitiful impression. I am dressed too warmly for the temperatures. Trickles run down my face, the long-sleeved t-shirt has changed its color from blue to dark blue all over.

I ring the doorbell at 1490. No buzzer sounds. Am I in the right place? No indication that this is the Cristal Apartments hostel. I ask in the neighboring stationery store. The owner is helpful and tries to reach the host by phone and finally sends my phone number to the hostel owner so that he can contact me via WhatsApp. It is still early afternoon. I plan to go to the 'nearby beach' and imagine that there is a place with parasols and a clear view of the waves playfully curling in the afternoon light....

playing men like in Mendoza

But then my smartphone rings and the hostel owner is on the line.

He is on a business trip and gives me the code for the entrance gate. I wonder how I should maneuver the Vespa through the narrow door when I realize that the whole gate is rising and barely moving past my head and the Vespa. That could have gone wrong! But that's not enough: I don't know when the gate will close automatically again. The Vespa is in the wrong angle - I only notice this when I give too much gas and it only lightly touches the corner. I pull it backwards - knowing that the countdown is running for the door closing mechanism - put it in the right position and accelerate. Not a second too late. Because as soon as I have crossed the threshold, I already hear the squeaking closing sound behind me. A second time: lucky!

Here I have a whole apartment for 13 euros at my disposal. With air conditioning, a 'lounge' with a sofa and TV, and a small kitchenette.

In the evening, it pours down with rain and a thunderstorm breaks directly over the city. After an hour, the spectacle is over and the temperatures are bearable again.

Next door, there is a sushi restaurant that I will visit again tomorrow!

12.02.:

There is no breakfast. The hostel owner - around his mid-thirties and a-Class driver - is out during the day.

the market is the soul of the city and you are the soul of the market

But there is not only the sushi restaurant, but also a bakery in the immediate neighborhood where I can have breakfast. I don't expect breakfast, I just say that I want a coffee and would like to drink it here. Breakfast is called 'café da manhã' in Portuguese. And so I am lucky to not only be served a cup of coffee, but also a crispy (!!) roll with ham and cheese. The crowning glory: a lace set that the waitress puts underneath.

It is cloudy and only 23 degrees!

The bus stop is right in front of my hostel. The app tells me which bus number to take and where to get off. After half an hour, I am in the city center.

The cultural house is listed as a sight - a colonial-style house, some parks, and the cathedral. I let myself drift, take photos, and visit the market halls, which are located near the former harbor area.

There are fewer stalls here, no butchers cutting up and dissecting pigs, no Brazilians having breakfast and staying up all night, and no young women cutting vegetables with their babies sleeping nearby in strollers.

Later, I find my way to a ship that goes to Guiaiba. I am looking forward to the skyline of Porto Alegre on a windy deck. But quickly, I am taught otherwise. There is no deck, only seats inside the ship. And very quickly, I also understand why. The ship races over the water at a crazy speed. We would all have been blown away.

On the return trip, I take pictures through the water-splattered side windows, which give the photos a special expression.

I have to save the battery. It's already in the red zone. Without a functioning smartphone, I'm as good as lost here.

At least it has to lead me to the right bus stop. It works. Although I stand in the wrong queue for fifteen minutes because I realize too late that there is another stop right in front of the crosswalk. Not just one, but also other stops for different buses. Therefore, the square is too narrow, and my bus drives past us first, only to reverse and then open the doors. South America!

just like in London, a queue forms before boarding. No pushing and shoving, but angry looks if someone jumps the line.

When I come home, I find text messages from the Vespa Club. Maybe there will be a meeting in Santa Maria tomorrow?

13.02.:

The weather is as forecast. Cloudy and 25 degrees.

Today, I avoid the big city and spend the day at the Rio Guiaba, which is just under 7 km from my hostel.

I drive along the waterfront and reach increasingly poorer regions. Horse-drawn carriages come towards me, the houses become poorer, the road becomes narrower, and the garbage is in front of the houses.
I don't feel comfortable. I look ahead and avoid looking into open doors or windows.

When I feel an asphalt road under me again, an army truck turns in front of me, fully loaded with soldiers and their weapons raised. It is a oppressive feeling to see the muzzle pointed at me. I wait until the road is clear again and speculate whether this is an exercise or a real threat. They jump off and run along the street in a crouched position with their weapons raised. I act indifferent, make myself invisible, and continue driving. Will they stop me and declare me their enemy? They let me go on.
The same scenario repeats itself shortly afterwards. Again, I have to stop. Again, armed soldiers with helmets and black cloths over their mouths. Here, the road is so narrow that I want to give the vehicle the right of way. No hasty actions, but defensive and deliberate. The truck presses against the house wall and gives me an impatient sign to continue driving.
In the rearview mirror, the same scenario as before repeats itself. They jump off the back of the truck and distribute themselves in a crouched position with their weapons raised. There are hardly any people on the street, but those I see do not appear excited or afraid.

I am glad that I reach my starting point on the waterfront unharmed and discover a restaurant on board a decommissioned and converted ship.

This is exactly how I imagined it

Here I am spoiled with fresh salmon and freshly squeezed lemon juice. In front of me is the Rio Guiaba, which, in terms of its width, resembles a lake rather than a river. There are hardly any guests, and I get a seat in the front row with a view of the water. There is hardly any traffic on the two-lane waterfront road, there is no TV set and no radio.

The meeting with the Vespa Club will not take place today. After some WhatsApps and text messages, it turns out that it is not located nearby. It is on my way to Sao Gabriel, but would have to take a detour of 160 km. Too bad, but I cancel the meeting for now. There is still the option of meeting somewhere halfway.

Wilfried also cannot explain the 'hissing' of the Vespa but recommends checking the exhaust fitting.

late afternoon atmosphere

Later in the evening, I experience a beautiful sunset. It initially confuses me. But after looking at the map, I realize that I am sitting with my back to the slightly more distant Atlantic Ocean to the east.