Journalled on Thursday, 26 of December 2024 | Santo Cristo, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil: 30 degrees, hot, sticky, overcast and with rain.

It is the 26th, which is Boxing Day in England. Julie had caught her first of two flights at 6:00 AM, needing to be at Birmingham Airport by 4 in the morning.

Her KLM Dutch Airlines flight was from Birmingham Airport to Schiphol Airport, near Amsterdam, Holland’s main international airport.

The second, with only an hour and a half to connect, is direct to Rio, arriving around 7:30 Rio time. She had arranged for a local taxi service to pick her up at 3:00 AM from her parents’ house to take her to Birmingham Airport.

Half an hour before the pick-up, Julie’s anxiety began to rise, which would be normal in such a situation, especially since she was travelling alone and it was really her first time travelling such a long distance by herself. She called the taxi company to check if everything was in order; everything was confirmed as OK.

The man on the other end of the phone politely and calmly asked her why she was panicking, which I found quite funny, and for me, the guy was a genius.

When Julie arrived at Schiphol, she couldn’t find the gate for her connecting flight to Rio; she was confused about the flight and gate numbers. She messaged me, and I sent her the number. Soon, she was oriented and arrived at the correct gate, not another gate to Hong Kong.

I, on the other hand, in Rio, was making sure that everything was right, well arranged, spick and span for her at my tiny studio flat. My current residence is a rented small studio flat with a very nice layout, everything in the right place, and furniture of good taste, but it is small, very small.

I do not think you could even swing a cat in it, to be fair. I have given it a name: I call it my potty: ‘pinico’ in Portuguese.

I initially thought of the name in Portuguese, and when I spoke to Julie, I translated it into English. Reflecting on it, I am not so sure it is as amusing in English as in Portuguese. Sometimes this happens: what is funny or relevant in one language does not always carry the same significance or impact when translated into another.

Anyway, I call it my potty, and obviously, I want it to be perfect for Julie’s arrival.

I have cleaned it several times over the past few days, but now I need to give it the final touches. I went to the supermarket and bought everything that I thought would be needed, including fresh fruit. Julie eats a lot of fruit, so I bought bananas, apples, melon, watermelon, etc.

I also visited a florist to buy her a bouquet of flowers. I found one in Praça Bandeira, a 40-minute walk from the potty. It turned out that the shop owner was very talented and extremely creative; the bouquet I purchased from her was quite stunning, to say the least. I took a taxi back as it was starting to rain, and I wanted to avoid adding more stress on the day she was arriving.

The potty is OK!

Flowers, OK!

Food, OK!

Richard, OK!

Money, OK!

Time to go to the airport, OK!

Due to the traffic on Boxing Day and Christmas, many people work but also travel to the end-of-year festivities, so I thought it would be better to take the BRT to the airport.

The international airport is not far; it is situated on the island of Isla da Governador.

To be precise, since I don’t live in the south zone of Rio but almost in the north, a little beyond the city centre in the port area, I am much closer to the airport than I would be if I lived in Copacabana.

The BRT is a kind of fast-track bus system in the centre, east, west, and north of Rio. It was created for the 2014 Olympics in Rio by the mayor at that time, Eduardo Paz. As with many things in Brazil, it wasn’t fully completed as promised.

Since then, it has faced issues with poor administration, another characteristic of Brazil, but I was impressed with how good and efficient the BRT coach service has become since my last ride on it a couple of years ago.

As the BRT has its own fast-track lane to the airport, it was unexpectedly quick, considering I could see a major traffic jam in all the lanes outside the window, which is very common in Rio nowadays.

I arrived at the airport 45 minutes early, which is typical for me.

I found arrivals in Terminal 2 conveniently located on the ground floor, just a 5-minute walk from the BRT station. I was without the bouquet because I thought it better to leave them at home and give them to her when we arrive at the potty.

Her flight arrived 15 minutes early, and it took her another 40 minutes to clear immigration and customs. Luckily, Julie was neither stopped at customs nor denied entry or arrested by immigration, which was a relief for me.

When she finally appeared, leaving the disembark gate, I was unsure what to think. Though she looked tired, she was still as beautiful as I remembered from my time in England. The last time I saw her was over six months ago!!!

I approached her, and we hugged and kissed. It was so wonderful to see her. I felt happy that she was finally here in Brazil. I could see that she was a little emotional. I’m tired. We wheeled her trolley with her luggage to the side to let other passengers pass, and we chatted between kisses and hugs. I felt a sense of relief that we were together again.

I finally told her that I thought it would be better to catch a BRT coach home, as the traffic was terrible and the condominium is only a 5 to 10-minute walk from the station.

When we returned, I felt a little nervous as she entered the flat because I was aware of how small the party was. She came into the flat; it was small, but she had known about that beforehand and was fine with it. After she entered, I gave her the flowers, which she loved, and the rest is history.

I do not know what time we went to bed.

Thank you.

Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.

Richard