We met at the hotel in São Paulo at 4 p.m. Mark immediately started to complain about something—Being thirsty? Being tired? Can’t remember already. Feng went to the bathroom to change to his jeans and he put on a long-sleeve t-shirt. I booted my laptop and wrote down an address on my notepad.
“We’d better go before the 5 p.m. downpour…”
The sky was already getting darker and darker.
There was a taxi just outside the hotel—yes, São Paulo–Guarulhos International Airport please.
“What time is your flight?”
“7:30 p.m.”
“International?”
“Yes.”
The taxi driver seemed surprised. Were we going to the airport too early or too late?
“How long is the trip?” I asked.
He checked the current traffic conditions on his phone. “70 minutes.”
That’s what I expected. Guarulhos is a different municipality, after all.
We made it to the airport in less than one hour and also paid less than I had estimated. Brazil is always full of surprises.
“You go first, then,” Feng said.
Every story worth reading has a twist.
At 7:20 p.m., I boarded a plane to Argentina.
At 9:30 p.m., Mark and Feng boarded their plane to Canada.
I’m on my own, now.
Kind of like a spinoff of the Feng-Juliette-Mark franchise, I guess.