Taxis are always waiting at the bus station to offer their services. But, given the higher price of conventional taxis, my preferred method of transportation within a city is by mototaxi. In the city traffic, you can see motorcycles, often painted bright green or orange, which provide a more economic taxi option. If you have much to carry, you might want to consider a conventional taxi (although, you may recall some of the amazing feats I mentioned in my previous post about people carrying large objects on a motorcycle). They do charge out of town customers a higher rate, but probably still not as much as a car taxi. Riding behind a stranger on a motorcycle sounds awkward, but they have welded nice metal handles on the passenger seat to hang onto so you don't have to hug the driver.
Near the bus station, I found a group of motorcycle taxi-ists sitting around reading newspapers. I asked how much they would charge for a ride to Detran (Department of Transportation). The guy whose turn it was said he would do it for R$25. Before even thinking about it, I had said ok. One of his peers sneered, “Ha, R$25!?” I guess I should have talked him down a little or just offered a low amount to begin with. At Detran, it turned out that I needed a proof of residence in the US and that my tax return wouldn't work. I kept trying to ask what kind of a document that would be, and he said he couldn’t tell me ahead of time what would be accepted, since they just collect the documents and send it to someone else for review. He showed me one example of a document someone from Portugal had used and that I should try to get something from the Brazilian consulate in the US. So…time to go back home.
I wandered through the shops at the mall in the bus station as I waited for my 3:00 bus. When my watch marked about 2:55, I contemplated getting ice cream, but decided to go to the bus early instead. As I stood on the platform, I was confused to see a bus leaving from the stall where my bus was supposed to depart in 5 minutes. I checked my watch again. Another guy standing on the platform next to me confirmed that it was my bus and told me to run after it. “Will they open the door for me?” “Yeah, they’ll open it, he responded.” By this time, the bus was across the way. I ran out there, waving my ticket, and the driver opened the door. He made some remark about how people need to be on time or they will miss it. I showed him my watch that was just then pointing to 3:00. I sat down and wondered how everyone could have been that early, in non-punctual Brazil. So I checked my phone. It was 3:07. Then I noticed that the digital part of my watch was a little dim. I thanked God that I didn’t miss the bus in spite of my slow watch. I guess the moral of the story is: don't eat ice cream.