It took two hours to just find the bus that takes me to Ponta Grossa. In Carambei, there are three possible places to catch it. I started at the stop by my house, since it was right beside the bank. I tried to fill up my wallet, but it would only give me 300 reals ($100), not enough for the week by far.

After waiting in line for 30 minutes just to do that, I didnt see any bus go by, so I asked at the store what time it would come . In 20 minutes, I thought he said. I forgot my water bottle, so I ran back to get it. Still no bus. 

What time does it leave

Ah, in an hour, was the reply. 

OK so, now I have the opportunity to walk to the highway and catch one there. It was super hot and I was already cranky, so when the driver of the highway bus told me to take another bus, I already wanted to cry. 

What do you mean it says Ponta Grossa on the front of the bus!

Un otro! he repeated

My God. I had to run to catch this bus, so I was not happy when someone at the bus stop suggested we go to the terminal. Oh what a novel idea! You mean theres a bus terminal here... perfect.... Why didnt I know about it before ugh...

A strange Pakistani man felt the need to show me his business card to prove to me he was a lawyer, and therefore a good guy . He directed me to the terminal where another bus would take me to Ponta Grossa, finally.

At 1 p.m., I found myself there, with glazed eyes, trying to choose the right bus company that would take me west. I gave up on Curitiba, because my couchsurfing hosts were not answering.

I decided I would take whatever bus was going to Rio Grande do Sul, the most southern province in Brazil. Lucky me, I thought, when the ticket lady said a bus was leaving at three. After I happily paid and handed her my passport, she explained it was leaving in the early morning. Oh...my... god...

There was no way I would go back home to wait for it at this point, so I asked some other companies what they had to offer and it was the same. I figured I would find something to do for 12 hours in Ponta Grossa. I wandered down to the cathedral, actually up, because the whole city is perched on a hill . I took a little snooze in the pew, which I hoped looked like I was praying, and then went downtown to see the parks etc.

While I was wandering, I noticed a samba band practicing and people setting up scaffolding for a real live carnaval parade tonight. What luck. This time, I really was lucky. I asked a sales guy what time it all started and he said 9 p.m. Perfecto. I now had something to do until bus time. But it was only about 6 p.m., so what to do until then...

Oh, I know, I checked Trip Advisor for the best restaurant in town. It was called La Gondola, and it was categorized as European. So, I changed into my blue sparkly dress I just bought last week in a bathroom in a city park. Classy right. And I strolled on down, expecting some fresh ravioli or something.

I was a little early, so I ordered a martini which was strangely cheaper than the draft beer. It was weirdly sweet, even though I asked for the dry one . The pasta I expected was twice the price of the barbecue and buffet deal, so I got that. I did not mind waiting for the barbecue to start, even though my intestines were liquifying and consuming themselves already. 

I live Skyped the whole thing to Jeremy, steak, salmon, Portuguese style cod, mussels, calamari, fresh salad, filet mignon, sausag and pork with pineapple sauce (that tasted absolutely awful) everything else was melt in your mouth amazing though. 

The rain was coming down in buckets, so I was not very hopeful for the street parade by the time I finished devouring the carnivore explosion. When it stopped raining, I walked in the direction of the deafening pounding of drums and found everyone preparing for the big party. It turned into the most Brazilian day ever, barbecue, carnaval, samba, what more could I ask for.

Once again, I had so many feels. That awestruck feeling came back again . As the drag queens, glittery teens and die hard grandmas danced and twirled down the street in their finest, I was completely covercome. Ten years ago, I would have never imagined I would be in this place, witnessing an age old tradition that I have only seen on TV. 

Here it is again, the reason I risk blood clots on 26 hour flights, run around looking for buses that never come, nap in parks and fight with bus station security when I pass out on their cold metal benches, drenched in rain. But, I am getting ahead of myself now.

The dancers were charmingly amateur, everyone from toddlers to grandmas contributed to the spectacle. Then, it started to drizzle. Soon, the drizzle changed to a downpour. I shaved my backpack in a dry corner and joined the other carnaval die hards splashing in the puddles. I was frozen to the core and miserable, but we still cheered for the dancers who looked much worse. 

When it was all over, I put on everything that was still dry in my bag and tried to imagine I was warm. I fell asleep many times waiting for my 3 a.m. bus. It did not arrive until 7 a.m. It would not be a Brazilian day without something extremely late and no apology.