These aren’t the kidneys you’re looking for…

São Paulo’s bus station is one of the biggest in the world with hundreds of platforms that depart to innumerable locations in South America. Predominantly fabricated in concrete it feels dated compared to European equivalents of glass and steel but serves a bewildering number of people as we witness travelling through it. We connect to the metro and catch the blue line to Paraiso to the Hostel Bella Paulista, just off the main Avenida Paulista road. But not before having a confusing metro ticket conversation with somebody in a box that wasn’t selling metro tickets. I say the right words in Portuguese but still seem to confuse everyone I talk to.

We find our hostel using Lucy’s navigational prowess and drag our backpack through the stiff gate and curved steps up to the entrance. We let ourself in to find an empty reception with a TV playing a dubbed American film with Winona Ryder and Richard Gere playing extremely loudly, blocking our feeble “OLÃs” from the owners ears. We finally venture inwards to find our hosts cooking some amazing smelling cake for the next morning’s breakfast. Our hostel is small but pleasantly furnished with only a few rooms.

But oh meu Deus, the wifi… We gobble it up like data junkies, not spilling a single data drop. We stream HD Netflix films whilst uploading batches of photos whilst face timing, realising how dependent we are on being able to connect. It’s been less than two weeks away but it’s a craving as strong as beans on toast or Bombay Bad Boy pot noodle.

The next day we walk around the centre of São Paulo, checking out the commercial heart of Brazil. Avenida Paulista streams like the main artery and seems closer to a European/American City than Rio. Retail brands are still unfamiliar in name but we do happen to chance upon the Golden Arches when venturing inside one particular shopping center. We treat ourselves and can verify (rightly or wrongly) it tastes exactly the same in Brazil. Except no sweet curry sauce. Names of burgers are exactly the same with a nearly identical menu.

Our transfer to Campo Grande isn’t until 8 o’clock and we exhaust ourselves roaming the streets of São Paulo. To limit panic we return to the Bus station (rodoviaria) early and buy tickets to the Barafunda bus terminal. This station is smaller and less modern than the previous one and as we leave the ticket desk we are approached by a young Brazillian speaking English to us.

“English? You wanna go Barrafunda?”he said.

“Err. Yes” we replied.

“Follow me” he said.

And we did. We followed him without really knowing where we were going and where he was taking us. Perhaps a little foolish given we were in the land of kidney removal and São Paulons (São paulese?) are known for being a bit kidnappy. But he told us he was a concierge for MasterCard, and he had some nice looking teacher friends that he introduced us to, and was interested in where we were travelling. (Reading that back does makes us sound a bit naive. Yikes.) But he also looked like a doppelgänger for my mate Pete. His name was mike and he told us not to trust anybody except for him. He called himself a good guy and he really was. He translated at ticket offices and helped us get to our platform.

“I just like helping people” he said.

I kept waiting for the sting remembering exactly where I was. It never came and we witnessed a superb gesture from a kind and time generous Brazillian called Mike. A credit to São Paulo and Brazil.

We board the bus realising we have booked onto an “Executivo” coach. This is a similar experience to first class on an aeroplane and as we have thirteen and a half hours to travel, we do it in the utmost comfort. Blankets, pillows and fully reclining seats. Boarding the bus we punch the air knowing it will be a comfy ride.