The secretary at work told me the first bus would leave at 5:25 a.m. I thought that would be great, because I'd get to Curitiba by 8 a.m. and have a full day for exploring ahead of me. 

So, I woke up at 4 a .m., ready to go back to sleep on the bus. I sauntered on down to the bus terminal and what do you know, everything was closed and there was no bus in sight. I looked at the bus schedule again just to make sure, and there it was, the first bus was leaving at 7:30. Oh...my...god... 

I went back home and slept for an hour, only to wake up again at 7, in time for the actual first bus to Ponta Grossa.
 
That bus came right on time, and then I ran to catch the 8 a.m. bus to Curitiba, but it was full, so I had to leave at 8:45, with an arrival time of 10:45. 

Ricardo, my couch surfing host was already up, he was excited to meet me at the station. When I got there, he was waiting, and he whisked me off to the botanical gardens. He also brought his little dog named Shanna and we wandered around in the greenhouse and art gallery. 

Then Ricardo dropped me off at the Oscar Niemeyer museum on the other side of town . Once again, I was not a fan of Curitiba's museums. The guards followed me around like hawks and they berated me for having an empty (!!!) bottle of water. They showed me the special water drinking spot where you had to pour water into a cup and drink it there and not move one inch, while under official supervision, of course. I drank a cup and emptied the glass into my mouth, then I carried it around so as not to waste it, when I went back for another swig of water. Nope, that was also haram. The guard ripped it from me and threw it out. By the time I was done at the museum, I had four plastic cups taken from me and sent into the landfill. Brazil, you are stupid and wasteful, and I don't like you. 

Half of the exhibits were closed because I had bad timing, arriving in between some temporary exhibits, so it was also disappointing. There was no art in the famous "eye" of the museum. I climbed all the way up there only to see some detritus, then went back down to look at the rest of the art. 

On the way back to Ricardo's house, I asked an employee at the bus station for directions. I had interrupted her romance novel, so she wasn't very friendly. I kept saying "escrevo! escrevo!" so that she would write down which bus I had to take, but she refused, over and over. It wasn't until a man who could speak English told her I what I wanted, that she finally wrote down the name of the bus station where I had to change buses. Again, I was not impressed, Brazil.

 When I arrived at his house, Ricardo wasn't there. I went to buy some snacks and beer, and by the time I was back he was home. He invited his other gay friends over and we ate dinner while I listened to a lot of people speaking Portuguese and drank my beer alone. They wouldn't drink my beer, but they passed around some shots of apple rum, which I thought was peculiar, but I went with it, of course.