Once upon a time a workshop - Part 3 of 3 - The workshop

This was the second literary workshop I took part in my life. The first had been a Saturday morning, about writing science fiction narrative, years ago. The difference was that this one was in the United States, about poetry, a week long and the person who was giving it was Marge Piercy.

I was first introduced to her work through my studies of science fiction when I read about her most relevant works to that field: Woman on the Edge of Time published in 1976 and He, She and It, published in 1991. Her work is amazing and every essay, novel or poem I read by her made me feel more compelled to know more, to share them with friends. And it is no small feat: she has written and published more than 40 titles: 17 novels, 18 poem collections, a play and some non-fiction books. Three of her books were written in collaboration with her husband Ira Wood.

Last year, I interviewed Piercy because I am studying her two aforementioned novels. Out of this interview, I produced this poem. In December, she started receiving applications to the Poetry Workshop she gives. For you to apply you need to send her 5 poems. I had 5 poemsin English. They were raw, but I could include this poem I had written to her and it would be my chance of having her reading it. It would be an honor to be rejected by her. The thing is, some weeks after I had submitted the poems, she wrote me back and she said: “You are accepted to the workshop. Your poetry is too verbose and needs tightening and less rhetoric, but I like you and think you'd be a good addition to the mix. Plus unlike too many poets, you have a lot to say, and that matters to me. I look forward to working with you. I think I can help you.”

So, she talked about my weaknesses but she saw some potential in me. I stared at this message for hours, in disbelief, until I could finally answer her that it was great to have been accepted.

The following step was to create a portfolio with 15 poems, the five I had submitted and ten new ones. I didn’t have ten more good poems in English. So, I selected two and the other 8, I would translate from my poems in Portuguese. As I was helping my friend Taryn with translations from Portuguese to English, we helped each other and she gave a lot of hints and ideas. I wrote three new poems and there it was, a collection of fifteen poems.

When we started to introduce ourselves through Facebook, I got a little suspicious. Most of the people had been writing poetry for decades. They had been published. I felt my poems would be so amateurish and weak when put side by side with them. The mask would fall and they would see me as the academic playing poet I was. But if Piercy had believed in me, so should I.

The first day of class we finally met. I remember how nervous I was. I got there before everyone else. People came and the first activity was to introduce ourselves verbally and concisely. All the participants were so happy we only had 12 people in class. Normally workshops are for 40-50 participants. We were a heterogeneous group: one local, some people from the northeast of the US, two from San Francisco, Oregon, Glyn was Welsh but has lived in the US for a couple of decades and some of the girls were from Canada.

We had classes in the morning. The first day we talked about images. Piercy gave us some theory on aspects of poetry, then we read examples she had selected. It was good exercise for us to practice reading poems. Our assignment for next day was to write a poem selecting one image and working it out until the end. I wrote the first version of The crossing. The next day we talked about sounds. Our homework was to write a poem exploring the strategies of sound. That afternoon I had a conference with Marge.

The conferences were half an hour, and we would go to Marge’s house and she would comment on each of the 15 poems we had sent her. She gave me mostly ideas on changing words, cutting A LOT (remember the verbose?) and we talked a little bit about life and what was happening in Brazil. That gave me the idea to write the poem for the following day. People liked it. Here it is. 

By the middle of the week I had realized two things: the fellow poets were super friendly. I imagined they would have big egos and would patronize me. They did exactly the opposite.  

I understood how little of poetry I had read and how I was still afraid of it. That made me see all poetry as valid expression of something. Criticism was beyond me. I had no power to say it was bad poetry because if there was rhyme and verse, there was an intention to be poetic and I should praise the person for that. It was what made my editing process so difficult. It was high time I was not afraid anymore. I had to be able to select good poetry from bad poetry.  Doing that would not only make me a better poetry reader but a better writer. A critical sense was in the order of the day and the workshop was the chance I had to seize it.

There was the reading night and there were a lot of people to watch Marge and us. I calculated more than 70 people. I was the first to go. I read two of my poems: Truce in Troy and Recipe.

The next days we talked about titles (we had to give better titles to poems the others had written), line length and Thursday morning we started asking Marge a lot of questions and it was a Q&A session, basically. We talked about pattern poems (poems as list, image, recipe, dialog, etc).

One of the participants, the sweet Emily, wrote about her impressions on the workshop. You can find it here. 

What I learned from the experience was:

* Poetry is our experience in a different perspective. I should not fear it.

* As usual, it works better in groups. Joining a writer’s group was a hint she gave us

* Piercy is a wonderful person, who has had a rich and interesting life. I already knew that but it was just nice confirming in person.

* People can be very warm and friendly about my poetry even if I am from a country where English is not a mother language.

On the last day of classes, we had a party. Almost everyone was there. There were friends and family. The food was terrific, plenty to drink, talks about many things. I had a chance of sitting with Marge and talking to her about my research and the future. Glyn, one of the poets, who is Welsh, made an impersonation of the poet Dylan Thomas and the sun setting made it just a wonderful way to end that fabulous week.

Once upon a time a workshop - Part 2 of 3 - The family

When I arrived in Wellfleet, I knew I had two different types of adventures to live: one would be in the mornings, when I had the workshop classes. After the classes and except when we had special events connected to the workshop, we were free to do our homework assignments and explore the area. The weather was perfect for most of the week. On Tuesday, it got cold and there would be a party for the workshop people at the beach with a bonfire but because it was cold, windy and overcast I ended up not going but apparently they had the party.

As usual, when traveling, I tried to see what Couchsurfing.org had to offer me. Wellfleet was a small village and the probability I would find places offering a couch there was very low. Indeed, there were three girls and only one answered my request. With a maybe. So I rented a room and we kept in touch, so that she could tell me for sure whether or not she would be home by the time of the workshop. Her mother, who was unaware of what CS was, visited her and met some couchsurfers. She liked the project and what Odessa told her about me so she offered to host me.

Because the daughter, Odessa, was busy, working at the film festival, Renae, the mother, ended up spending most of the time with me. She helped me a lot and treated me as part of the family. We would have meals together. I cooked for them once. We talked a lot about the past, the future. We walked the dogs. We went to several beaches, to the ponds. We went to the movies to watch shorts of the festival, and to watch “The Great Gatsby”. We had ice cream, fries. She helped me find my magnets. She drove me to class and back home. She talked to her neighbor, who gently lent her cottage for me to stay for the whole week. We went to a yard sale, to Provincetown. She was one of the most amazing people I have ever met. I felt so happy when she was around. I was so happy when she accepted to go with me to the party we would have at the end of the workshop, as we were supposed to take family or friends. She felt like family. She made strawberry pie and had a good time talking to people about everything. I even inspired her to write a poem about a problem that has been afflicting the city. She taught me among other things that if I want to cultivate strawberries, cheap beer is always a must-have. Those drunk slugs thank you. Also, we faced mysteries together, like the strange “fauna” on the beach, some hollow whatever that we thought to be plants but moved! She is so easy to love and I wait for the day we are going to meet again.

Her family was just as extraordinary as she was. Chuck was funny and welcoming. Her 4 kids were so gorgeous and talented. They all played some kind of instrument, spoke other languages, had some type of artsy vein. Odessa was working a lot but we still had time to go places and her boyfriend Loren was also very interesting to talk to. His way to see the world was unique and I wanted to spend hours talking to him. He was the only one to endure waking up at 4.30 to see the sunrise on a Sunday. The girls were pretty tired. Nadia, one of the daughters, writes books for kids. I am sure I’m still going to ask her to sign one for me. She gave me a ride back from Provincetown, one of the nights I went there for some party. The bars were nice and I even learned some skateboarding with Loren (not downhill). 

Provincetown was, by the way, a very nice place to visit. People are very liberal, everywhere you look there is a rainbow flag and same-sex couples were walking hand in hand, friends were hanging out and flirting. The gay community there is massive. There is a boat inside the library and the building is very beautiful. you can just grab a book and sit by a window, staring at the blue sky and the Atlantic.

I felt happy all the time and it was the perfect way to complement my happiness of spending time with my favorite poet and novelist, Marge Piercy.

***
On my way back home, I still had one more night in Boston. I had talked to Will and he said it was OK for me to spend that night at his place again. We ended up going to a bar that night, listening to some live music and then we walked to a traditional ice cream place called J.P. Licks. The next morning, one more adventure before going to the airport. He drove me and his friend John to Dover, to a farm, where he had this volunteer work of controlling bird population by going to about 20 nests, counting the eggs, the hatchlings. It was much fun.

Once upon a time a workshop - Part 1 of 3 - Warming up

Another trip!? Why?

So, I had one more trip before going back home. It was a very important trip because it was the trip to Cape Cod. Last year, when I interviewed the author that I study, Marge Piercy, she mentioned she gave a workshop every year. It was called Intensive Poetry Workshop. She said many people applied but she would take 12 students – which is not very common, this type of event normally accepts dozens of people – to spend a week with her, learning about poetry and improving their craft. In December, she posted on Facebook that people could already submit their applications. To apply all you had to do was send her five poems. She would select the people based on a selection of their work. I had 5 poems in English. One was about her. So, if I really wanted her to read without having to impose on her, that was my chance. I thought it would be an honor to be read and rejected by a poet of that caliber.

She accepted me. Even though she identified some of my flaws (some of which I was well aware), she stated I had things to say and that she felt she could help me improve. So, from an academic studying her novels, I was a fellow-poet, a student who would have the chance of spending a week with her. She asked me if I wanted to participate. I answered immediately I was in! The group was formed and we had a page on facebook to introduce ourselves and discuss details.

Going north

Living a life as a researcher and student, it was not so easy to make ends meet. I would have to try the 

cheapest ways for transportation and accommodation. The planning started early and I decided I was going to fly from Tampa, FL to Boston, MA. They are major cities and the ticket prices would be more affordable. There was a problem: getting from Gainesville to Tampa. I ended up talking to a good friend who could drive me there, even though he never wakes up so early. We had a nice time, talking and listening to music and I am very thankful to Donavaun. People from Tampa airport were very polite, more than usual. Even people that worked on the security checks were super nice. I made a friend while I waited for my flight. One connection in Cleveland, I made another friend. I had interesting conversations.

From Logan Airport, I got a shuttle then the subway and after crossing the town and getting to the green line, there I was, in Waltham, a city just around the corner from Boston.

I was supposed to couchsurf there, with a guy named Will. He was a very nice host, respectful and eager to know me and my stories. We talked for some time, had a good time at a bar. On the next day we visited a place he had never been to before, Spectacle Island in the Harbor Area. We explored the island and the weather was perfect. After that, we had lunch at a pub and walked to the Freedom Trail, a red brick way taking us to many historic sites. We saw an old cemetery, and there were many people in the park. We saw one wedding happening and some other couple and their party were looking for places to take pictures. We walked through Boylston Street, Back Bay, and along the Charles River. Our last stop was Boston College, where he studies. We saw the buildings and entered the stadium. Then, I went to the city library to wait for my friend Nefyn. I was very happy about the chance of hanging out with him and it was a lovely evening talking about life. After that, I went back to a bar where Will was with friends watching the hockey game. Boston won and it was very nice to see all the happiness filling that crammed space. Back to his house, I started packing because we would leave early the next morning. He would give me a ride to get the bus to Cape Cod and to the next part of my great adventures.

Travel log: Midwest

One of the things I decided I was going to study while I was living abroad was the culture of the place I was calling home. As my field of study is literature and art, it seemed very important that more than just read about it, I should go out and experience everything this big and diverse country has to offer.

Some years ago, while still living in São Paulo, I met a guy through a website called Couchsurfing.org. He was supposed to be hosted by me, but something happened and I was not able to host him. Anyway, we kept in touch and we found out we had a lot of ideas and projects in common. When I got here, even though we were living 1.833 km or 1.139 miles apart, I decided I should take a break to go there and visit him. He gave me the green light and plans started to unfold.

One of the decisions I made was that I was not flying there. It would be time-saving but I don’t like airports and the tickets were not so cheap, since I would be flying from and to regional airports. I made up my mind I was going to get there by bus. There is a bus company here called Megabus. It is one of the few companies they have and the buses are very good, double deck, skyview roofs, they have wifi and plug outlets, so I could be using my phone or computer all the time without fearing the battery would run low. The buses are clean and on time. Enough reasons to convince me it would be interesting to plan a road trip.

My friends here were curious about it. The culture of traveling by bus is not widespread. One should drive, as they all have their cars or they fly places. It sounded like an adventure even for the people who like adventures. And the most important thing was to be very thorough in my planning. I didn’t want anything to go wrong and leaving whatever to chance was not an alternative.

The itinerary

I had few options, from Gainesville it is either Atlanta or Orlando. As I had to go north, Atlanta was the first destination. From there, more options were available. I could go more to the north or west. It was what I did: from Atlanta, the next stop would be Memphis (with one short stop in Birmingham, Alabama). From Memphis, the next destination would be St. Louis. It is one city extreme east of Missouri, almost Illinois. From there, it would not take much time to cross the state and get to my destination. After making sure that would be the best way, I had to buy the tickets, as they sell only from point to point, not from origin to destination. It would be fundamental to pay attention to the boarding times so that I had shorter layovers but time enough to get there even taking some delay into consideration. The trip to go was perfect: leaving Gainesville at 1.45pm, getting to Atlanta 6.50pm and leaving at 10.45pm. I would make it to Memphis at 4.40am and the bus to St. Louis would leave at 6.10am. I would be there from 10.50am to 12.30pm and it would give me time to have lunch and at 7.20pm I would reach my destination. Total: 28 hours. Not that bad. I would have books to read and study and my friends on the phone.

Gainesville and Atlanta

As usual, I left the packing process for the last minute, so I forgot two things: my umbrella and a sweater. It was hot here and I was late, so I took some pasta and fruits as I had no time to have lunch. The trip was uneventful and I interacted with no one. On my way there, I remember my friend David was living in Atlanta and I thought of sending him a text message and it worked. He was going to have dinner with a friend who was visiting and I was welcome to join them. I told them about my adventures and the others I had already had. We had good food and beer. His friend Shirley was an adorable person. They drove me to the station where I was getting the bus and there I was, on the road again.

Memphis

We arrived in Memphis so early, I had slept through most of the night. I had a semi-drunk friend texting and it was very nice chatting with him. When we got to the stop, nothing was open, the bus dropped us outside the bus station. It was cold and I thought how stupid I had been of having forgotten a sweater. I just had to get some t-shirts and use them to wrap around my arms. Soon we were going to St. Louis. It was nice I interacted with some people who were there waiting for the same bus.

St. Louis

I walked away from the stop, towards downtown and the arch. I saw important buildings and a park. I was looking for a cheap place to eat. Also, on my way back I had to find a place to sleep there because I would arrive at 1.20am and leave at midday. I went to some hotels, even some very creepy-looking ones and they were very expensive. I walked many blocks, always paying attention to the time to go back and get my next bus. Lunch was a wrap and tea. And on the road again, going to Kansas City.

Kansas City – Sat night

I tried sleeping on the bus, but there was a guy listening to loud music. No one seemed to care so I tried to ignore it. We got there without any incidents and I texted my friend. It was 7.20 and he told me he would be picking me up at 8. So I started reading. At 8.30 he texted me he would be late. No wonder. He had some problems with Google Maps, an exit that did not exist and he got there 9.20. I was a little shirty because of the long hours traveling and my patience was running low. Let’s try my GPS to get to the hotel. The first adventure starts. We were driving OK and suddenly my GPS freezes. I reboot the phone and it is back online in time to tell me we should be turning right, out of the highway. He does, like a crazy person. Matter of seconds. Then, we are 2 minutes away from the destination, turn left. All the lanes are closed for repairs. Now what? Well, turn right. And the detour takes forever. When we are on the other side, I tell him, you should turn left, he misunderstands and there we are, past the place, back to where we were. We call the hotel, go all around that 2 mile detour, but with the girl giving us the directions, we manage to get to the hotel. We check in and go to the supermarket, to grab something to eat. After that, shower and I was sleezzzzzzzzz…

Kansas City – Sunday

We woke up and had a mix of things we bought for breakfast and some coffee and muffins the hotel offered. We got ready to have an early lunch with his friend – whose name I can’t remember. I just remember his family was from Thailand. We were going for some Dim Sum at Bo Ling’s. It was the first time I had Chinese like that: they came to the table and offered something. We would accept or decline and pay individually for each dish. After that, we headed for the museum of the city. We saw a lot of paintings and talked about art and about life. It was nice to see some local art and see the people on the streets. There was a park where we walked and even took a nap lying on the grass. Then, we went to an art gallery and finally drove downtown. We had ice creams and he helped me look for magnets. I have a collection of magnets from all the cities I have visited. We decided we were going back to the hotel to get some dinner and maybe go to some bar. And we did that. We went to a bar and a storm started. The winds were fast and it was dark at 5pm. A lot of lightning. There were some pool tables, we started playing and drinking exotic things like a Blood Mary which had celery and bacon, cheese and olives in it. Quite an experience! Then, back “home”, there was a kitchen in the room, so we cooked dinner – chicken, salad and shrimp – and talked some more.

Kansas City – Monday

I woke up a little later and Josiah was not around. I had breakfast and started reading. He came and said he needed to help a guy who he had just met and was having computer problems. We had one more hour and checked out. We drove to a different area, an artsy part of town. We saw a lot of street art and had brunch at Gratitude Café, a delicious and cool vegetarian restaurant. We walked around and then drove to Union Station. It was a very beautiful building, with restaurant and stores and even a science museum. We found the postcards and magnets I wanted and outside there was a fountain. Across the street from it, up a hill, there was a World War I memorial and museum. We walked upstairs and uphill but because it was Monday the museum was closed. Anyway, we had a wonderful view of the whole city.

We were getting hungry again after the exercise and the vegetarian soup, so we looked for a steakhouse and I tasted some of the local cuisine. Ribs and steak and even what they called a triple chocolate brownie (in Brazil we call it petit gateau).

Again, after lunch, it was time to go to the car and take a nap. We still had 20 minutes in the parking lot before the hour expired so we set an alarm and we took forty winks.

There was some time left and we drove to the city market. The bus stop was across the street from it. Most of the stalls and stores were closed but we went to a café and spent time, reading, talking and making friends with the attendant, who wanted to travel the world.

We sat at a square and saw people walking their dogs, exercising and we talked about the future. He dropped me at the station some hours before the bus would arrive. I read till an old lady came and started making conversation. She had a very strong accent but we chitchatted. The bus should be there at 7 something but we had to wait until 5 minutes before the time we should be departing. We were worried.

St. Louis

So, the night before I had been able to reach a hostel I had seen on the net. They said one could only check in between 6pm and 10pm. I was supposed to arrive at 1.30am. Would they be able to check me in? I called and called and when they finally answered, he told no, they wouldn’t. I told him my case, that I would be staying there from 1.30 to 9am and then I would go to the city for some tourism. If I didn’t stay there I had nowhere else to stay, so he said I should call them as soon as I got there, get a cab and he would open the door for me. In the end, he showed me where I was going to sleep and gave me sheets and a towel. I was alone in a room with about ten bunk beds. It smelled ancient. The shower was great and I was protected. The next morning I woke up and left the hostel. I bought some food to have as a brunch, explored the neighborhood and decided to walk downtown instead of taking a bus or a cab. It was a one hour walk. I got to Union Station, spent some time there. The plan was to spend the morning in a park with museums, but I was afraid of not making it back on time. So I stayed around and got my bus to Memphis.

Memphis

I got to Memphis at 5.30pm. It was raining cats and dogs. I had not needed a sweater up to that point but it was chilly. Also, I had no umbrella. So, I would have to wait about 5 hours for the next bus. And there was not much I could do. The rain eventually turned into drizzle and I decided I was going to explore the surroundings. I had to find a place to have dinner. I started to walk and there was no one around. It was creepy but I was going up Main Street. And after some blocks I realized I was walking downtown-ward. I saw important buildings, squares and the neighborhood looked better. I got to Beale Street, a famous street with many bars and restaurants. I had dinner in a 1950’s style diner, root beer, burger and fries. I got my magnets and decided it was time to go back to the station. Instead of walking, I got the trolley, which also smelled ancient. Only elderly people and tourists were riding with me. It was fun. And when I got back to the station, it started raining again. Perfect timing!

Atlanta

Back to Atlanta, I was going to get the bus after lunch. But I had enjoyed spending time with David so much that I postponed the ticket for the early one the next day and I was going to spend the day and night there. As he was working during the day, I had to find things to do. I went to the Cyclorama, a museum and rotating painting about the Civil War. It was very interesting to know what had happened at that time. It was a bit expensive but worth it. Beside the museum, there was a zoo. It was not so big, but I walked a lot and saw all the animals. Even though it was a weekday there were tons of kids with their parents. Both attractions were in a park and after having lunch and walking a bit more, I went to the park and found a nice tree, under which I laid and took a nap. It was almost time to go to where I would meet my friend. We met, got groceries, as I was supposed to cook him dinner. We cooked and went to the swimming pool, not to swim, just to see the moon and talk. Then, back to the apartment we decided to watch a movie and then slept. On the following day, I got to Gainesville, rode my bike back home and continued working on my dissertation.

Alice acorda do seu sonho utópico: Último dia

“Há coisas que todos fazemos nas nossas vidas e depois nos perguntamos constantemente, Por quê? No que eu estava pensando? O que eu imaginava que ia acontecer? Como pude fazer isso, com ele, comigo? Invento, elaboro motivos, mas o fato que foi uma estupidez permanence. A estupidez é um grande mistério para mim, como às vezes eu consigo fazer alguma coisa tão contrária à razão ou às evidências, isso me assombra ao ter alguma distância dos fatos.” Marge Piercy, Sleeping with Cats

Então, havia a grande última aventura antes de chegar em casa e retomar a rotina da vida. Estava indo para casa e mesmo que eu tivesse muitas boas memórias da viagem e tinha sido bem sucedido na maioria dos planos, ainda tinha um dia inteiro. Eu podia ter comprado um voo de volta, mas em vez disso, quis tirar vantagem do fato de que estava num país diferente e queria ver as pessoas, a paisagem, eu queria ir mais devagar e realmente sentir e ver o que estar a 10.000 km acima do chão não me permitiria.

Acordei cedo e tomei um banho mais demorado pra me inspirar para o dia todo. Tinha certeza que não tinha chuveiro no trem, então como eu tomaria banho mais tarde? O Heraldo havia me mostrado onde estavam as frutas e o cereal e me disse que eu podia comer o que eu quisesse. Depois de ir embora, fui até um mercadinho e comprei algumas bolachas e salgadinhos pra viagem. As pessoas tinham me avisado que a comida do trem era ruim e cara As bolachas não iam ser o suficiente pra me alimentar o dia todo, mas já era um começo. Quando conferi o relógio, percebi que eu estava levemente atrasado.

Então comecei a correr para pegar o metrô e nas estações, fui fazendo uma contagem regressiva, 20 min, 15 min... Demorei meia hora para chegar na South Station. Tinha 5 minutos pra pegar o trem. Onde é? Deixa eu perguntar no balcão de venda dos bilhetes. “Seu trem partiu há cinco minutos.” Choque. “Perdão, aqui diz 11:45 e agora…” Ela fez cara de desentendida. “É 11:45 de Back bay, não da South Station.” “Quer dizer que eu vim 10 estações em vez de 4, e perdi o trem porque não percebi que a cidade tinha duas estações de trem?” Ela sorriu, se sentindo protegida pelo vidro reforçado. “Bom, isso quer dizer que eu perdi os 130 dólares que paguei na passagem de volta pra Flórida?” Ela conferiu o sistema. “Eu posso te colocar num outro trem que vai para Nova York. Em vez de ter 2:30 para pegar o próximo trem, você terá meia hora para fazer a troca. É arriscado e você tem que rezar pra esse que vai pra Nova York agora não ter nenhum atraso.” Cara de ai-meu-deus, que seja. “Quanto é?” “118” O quê? Paguei 130 pra ir de Boston até a Flórida, atravessando o país inteiro, e vou ter que pagar quase o mesmo preço pra ir até Nova York que é aqui do lado? “Tá bom, fazer o quê?”

Então, eu teria que ser muito rápido em Nova York. Tive que esperar na estação uns quarenta minutos pra embarcar. Um senhor com uma maleta sentou do meu lado, eu tinha sentado na janela. Tentei ficar calmo, já tinha surtado no Facebook, e pensava... e se eu tivesse tomado um banho mais rápido, ou nem tomado, se tivesse acordado mais cedo? Mas não aditava chorar sobre o leite derramado.

Tentei me divertir tirando fotos da paisagem, afinal, tinha sido por essa razão que eu ia por terra. Para ver e interagir com ela. Adorei o fato que havia uma tomada disponível. Eu fiquei no meu celular quase toda viagem. Pra ver onde estava no GPS, pra conversar com as pessoas no Brasil que estavam me confortando. Para tirar fotos. Usei ele bastante principalmente quando ficou escuro e não dava para ver nada do lado de fora. Ficava jogando um joguinho que descobri, e me divertindo. Mas a primeira parte da viagem  eu mais observei e curti a natureza.

Não houve atrasos pra chegar em Nova York. Eu realmente tinha meia hora pra... comprar coisa pra comer e pra ver Nova York. Peguei minhas malas e andei pela estação, procurando duas coisas: onde eu podia comprar comida pra viagem e onde era a saída. Encontrei os dois, mas decidi sair pra na volta passar no restaurante. Estava conversando com um amigo que me disse: “Você vai estar em Nova York e não vai vê-la? Tá louco?” Não respondam. Se ele soubesse o que ainda estava para vir. Então fui até a calçada e estava um pouco assustado pelo movimento das pessoas andando, dirigindo, conversando nos celulares. Peguei minha câmera, tirei duas fotos, uma para cada lado e entrei na Penn station. Tinha quinze minutos e estava contando.

Fui até um KFC e comprei uma salada de frango, uns nuggets, mas acho que acho que acabei esquecendo de pegar o refrigerante que estava incluso no combo, mas não queria voltar nem ficar carregando mais alguma coisa. Achei a fila e me certifiquei duas vezes que era a fila certa. Não queria errar dessa vez. Aparentemente eu tinha aprendido a lição e foi com alívio que eu vi o moço conferir a minha passagem e colocar no número da minha poltrona uma etiqueta na qual estava escrito Jacksonville. Estava pronto pra conhecer mais um pedaço dos EUA. Vi a Philadelphia, e fiquei surpreso quando percebi que a gente estava em Washington DC. Não fazia ideia que a gente ia pro oeste em vez de ir diretamente pro sul (pela costa). Sempre conferia onde estava pelo meu GPS.

Almocei e jantei o que tinha comprado e o cara que sentou do meu lado nem falou comigo. Eu não fiz nenhum esforço pra conversar com ele também e só fiquei ouvindo partes da conversa que uma senhora e um rapaz estavam tendo nas poltronas atrás da minha. Eram boas histórias.

Assim que ficou de noite, já tínhamos cruzado Maryland e a Virgínia. Lembro da estação Richmond. Então chegamos na Carolina do Norte, passamos por Fayetteville, mas já estava escuro demais pra ver qualquer coisa. Quando era duas da manhã decidi tentar dormir. Já estava me acostumando a dormir sentado, nos ônibus e agora no trem. A maioria das pessoas naquele vagão já estava dormindo e eu não vi nada nem ouvi durante a parte da viagem na Carolina do Sul. Quando acordei, o sol estava nascendo. Verifiquei e estávamos na Geórgia.

A parte da Geórgia era basicamente florestas e árvores. Não tinha sinal no celular, então estava sem GPS, sem joguinho e sem telefone. Fiquei observando a passagem, mas só tinha árvores e mais árvores, então comecei a ler algum dos livros que tinha levado. Lá para as nove da manhã, chegamos em Jacksonville e desci do trem. Estava me sentindo cansado já que tinha dormido algumas horas, mas havia muita coisa ainda pra acontecer.

A coisa é, eu não tinha planejado bem aquela parte da viagem. De alguma forma eu tinha imaginado que eu ia descer do trem e ia ser magicamente transportado de Jacksonville até Gainesville. Elas eram cidades vizinhas, não devia ser muito difícil tentar pegar um ônibus e ir para casa. Tentando ser independente, em um dos meus movimentos de maior estupidez, eu não vi um balcão de informações e decidi que eu não ia pedir informações. E tentei achar uma estação de ônibus. Abri o mapa no celular, e decidi andar para uma direção até que eu chegasse ao centro da cidade ou em alguma estação.

Cheguei numa avenida larga, mais parecida com uma estrada. Andei e andei e decidi que ia começar a pedir carona. Pus meu dedão pra cima, minha mala no chão e esperei, esperei. Ninguém dava a menor atenção, talvez fosse aquele trecho da estrada. Os carros passavam tão rápido que não tinha jeito de parar. Então comecei andar de volta para a direção da estação, mas não queria parecer um perdedor, então parava a cada 20 passos e tentava a sorte de novo.

Quando eu estava quase chegando na estação, um cara começou a gritar comigo. Ele correu um pouquinho e me alcançou e perguntou o que estava acontecendo. Eu falei que estava precisando de uma carona pra casa e ele perguntou onde e eu falei Gainesville.

Ele disse que a mulher e ele podiam me levar pra Gainesville e eu achei que tinha dado certo a ideia da carona, alguém tinha prestado atenção e logo eu estaria em casa. Ele me levou para o motel que eu tinha acabado de passar e conhecemos a enorme mulher dele lá. O quarto estava escuro e ele começou a falar da polícia e se eu tinha um cartão de débito, se eu tivesse, eles me levavam. Ele disse que precisava do dinheiro pra gasolina e, além disso, ia precisar de 100 dólares para poder dar para a polícia, caso alguém parasse a gente por causa da mulher dele, e tal. Que talvez nem precisasse, mas era bom ter, caso precisasse. Quando ele começou a falar das coisas nesses termos eu deveria ter corrido, ido embora de volta pra estação. Mas a história na hora parecia fazer sentido. Ele me levou até o carro, uma van toda fechada atrás. Era medonha e ele me fez sentar num pneu na parte de trás.

Tinha um monte de mala e roupas jogadas. E umas manchas vermelhas. Era sangue?

De novo, onde eu arranjei a coragem ou a falta de autopreservação pra entrar naquela van? Não me lembrava das lendas urbanas da infância, com os palhaços da van levando as crianças pra roubar os órgãos delas?

Eles me levaram pra um caixa eletrônico e tirei o dinheiro. Eu disse que eu ia ficar com o dinheiro, mas eles disseram que o guarda acharia estranho ter alguém na parte de trás dando dinheiro, e que era melhor eu fingir que nem estava lá. Bobagem, mas eu já tinha parado de pensar naquele ponto. E no caso de ninguém parar a gente, eles iam me dar o dinheiro de volta.

Ele estava dirigindo e eles começaram a discutir. A mulher deu metade do dinheiro pra ele, e ficou com a outra metade e eu achei aquilo estranho. Então, ele começou a dirigir pela cidade, e parou na frente de uma casa. Ficou lá uns 20 minutos e voltou. Olhos vermelhos e respiração estranha. Ele estava queimando o dinheiro que eu tinha dado pra ele com drogas. Enquanto eu esperava por ele, eu conversava com a mulher, dando dicas de como ela podia melhorar a autoestima.

Comecei a ficar puto porque meu corpo estava doendo, eu queria ir pra casa. Já era quase meio-dia. Comecei a ficar hostil com eles. Ele admitiu que ele não ia me levar pra Gainesville, comecei a gritar com eles, exigindo meu dinheiro de volta. Ele me devolveu 20 dolares. Comecei a chorar dizendo que eu não ia conseguir voltar pra casa e aquele era todo o dinheiro que eu tinha pra passar o resto do mês.

Eles me levaram de volta pra estação. Eu estava tão confuso e com raiva, cansado. Liguei pra polícia e contei a minha história. Assim como vocês, ele deve ter pensado que eu era retardado, por ter prosseguido na história, quando estava claro que era um golpe. Como pude ter sido tão inocente? Mesmo a mulher, em uma das conversas que tivemos ao esperar o cara me disse isso, as pessoas só querem o seu pior.

Perguntei na estação como fazia para chegar em Gainesville. Teria que pegar um ônibus até o centro. Lá tinha uma estação de ônibus da Greyhound. Cheguei lá mais ou menos às 2 da tarde. Quando perguntei à atendente sobre uma passagem para Gainesville, ela me olhou como se eu tivesse a xingado de um monte de nome feio. Me falou que não tinha mais ônibus para lá, talvez o da manhã, mas ela não tinha certeza.

Então sentei num banco e comecei a pensar, pra variar um pouco. A cidade ficava a 150 km. Quantas horas demora pra andar 150 km? Perguntei para o Google, 18 horas sem paradas. Não estava preparado para aquilo. Não havia alternativas online. Então resolvi me desesperar e comecei a mandar torpedo para meus amigos de Gainesville que tinham carro e que poderiam vir me buscar. Eu pagava a gasolina. Ninguém podia. Alguns nem em Gainesville estavam. Eu queria deitar e fingir que eu não existia. Alguns amigos me deram sugestões. Aceitei uma delas: ir até o aeroporto e pegar um serviço de transporte de aeroporto a aeroporto que eles tinham. Andei do terminal até o terminal de ônibus municipais e esperei meia hora pra pegar o ônibus pro aeroporto e mais meia hora pra chegar lá. Quando me informei, pensei duas vezes. Talvez fosse mais barato alugar um carro, mas não estava emocionalmente ou fisicamente preparado para dirigir.

Então, conversei com a atendente e seria 144 dólares. Fiquei puto, especialmente comigo mesmo. Devia ter previsto isso. Teria que fazer uma grande economia nos próximos meses para compensar essa minha sandice. Uma sandice bem cara. Lá pras 6 da tarde, quase 8 horas mais tarde do que deveria, cheguei em casa.

Me sentindo como um pedaço de cocô (pra ser eufemista), tomei um banho e fui pra cama. Prometi pra mim mesmo que eu não ia mais viajar de novo. (Ah se eu me ouvisse pra variar haha)

Jornada para Utopia: Dia 11

Assim que cheguei em Boston, peguei o metrô. Não foi difícil encontrar a estação que eu precisava ir. Andei de lá até a casa do Heraldo. Ele tinha recebido um amigo e aluno meu, e eu o contactei tanto pelo Couchsurfing quanto por email. Ele concordou em me receber e eu teria chegado na tarde do dia anterior, mas com o problema do aluguel do carro e tal, já tinha o informado da mudança de planos. Ele me disse que não estaria em casa quando eu chegasse, mas o Rick estaria. Eles moram juntos. Cheguei, tive que subir um lance de escada e o Rick me recepcionou, me mostrou onde eu dormiria e a casa, me deu uma chave e partiu pra trabalho.

Coloquei as malas no quarto e deitei na cama. Eu tinha dormido durante a viagem de Wellfleet a Boston, mas ainda me sentia cansado. E sentia falta da minha cama. Fiquei ali, olhando pro teto e tentando juntar energias para levantar e seguir com a vida. Estava em Boston, uma cidade interessante, histórica, cheia de possibilidades e seria estúpido da minha parte não sair e me divertir. O Heraldo me ligou, pra verificar se estava tudo certo e me disse que havia algumas revistas de turismo em cima da mesa do quarto que eu estava. Peguei as revistas e selecionei três ou quatro lugares pra ir. O tempo não estava tão convidativo pra ficar andando pela cidade, tinha começado a chover, então resolvi visitar um museu.

No caminho, pude ver prédios bem interessantes.

E pude até tirar foto de um lugar cheio de neblina e cinza. Assustador.

Daí, cheguei no museu do MIT. Para as pessoas que não trabalham com ciências e talvez não saibam, o MIT é o Instituto de Tecnologia de Massachusetts, um dos mais importantes centros de desenvolvimento de tecnologia no mundo. Fiquei feliz ao chegar lá porque gosto de museus de ciências. Fiquei mais feliz ainda quando a moça da bilheteria me perguntou se eu tinha carteirinha de estudante e minha carteirinha da faculdade serviu pra me dar desconto. Havia cinco exposições diferentes e algumas delas não permitiam que se tirasse foto. Uma era sobre o aquecimento global afetando as geleiras, uma outra sobre holografia, e havia uma exposição de Polaroids. Fiquei no museu por umas duas horas. Até comprei uma camiseta que era pra ser presente, mas gostei tanto que fiquei pra mim.

Ao sair do museu a garoa tinha se transformado numa chuva forte. Por sorte, tinha trazido meu guarda-chuva e andei um pouco do MIT até o Centro de Pesquisa do Câncer. O prédio era bonito e o lobby de entrada era um grande corredor de vidro, com as decorações abaixo e umas telas interativas para o visitante aprender mais sobre o câncer e as pesquisas que eles faziam ali.

Depois disso, comecei a ficar com fome. Era 3 ou 4 da tarde e eu não tinha almoçado ainda. Mesmo o café da manhã tinha sido os restos do que eu tinha trazido do Canadá. Então fui numa banca japonesa, perto de uma livraria grande e comi sushi. Depois de comer e dar uma passeada na livraria, sem encontrar nada de interessante, fui andar mais pela região, já que não estava mais chovendo e eis algumas das coisas que eu vi (prédios e decoração da rua).

Já que estava ficando escuro e os museus e outros lugares estavam fechando, decidi voltar pra casa. Um outro menino do Couchsurfing que não tinha podido me receber, mas sabia que eu estava por ali, me convidou pra ver um filme com uns amigos. Se eu fosse, ia chegar tarde em casa e eu teria só aquela noite para conversar com o Heraldo. Ele era a pessoa que estava me dando abrigo, então senti que deveria ficar com ele, conversando. No caminho de volta, eu vi a estação Harvard e desci. Esperava que a universidade ficasse ali perto. Apesar de minha câmera tirar umas fotos ruins à noite, consegui algumas. Me diverti andando pelo campus e vi a capela, a famigerada estátua do fundador e o que mais estivesse sinalizado. Pensei onde será que era o laboratório do Walter Bishop (da série Fringe), mas não perguntei pra ninguém.

Saí do campus e andei pela região. Vi uma livraria legal e a visitei. Sempre procurava algum livro legal pra comprar, algum da Marge Piercy que eu ainda não tenho ou alguém que eu já tenho, para doar para a biblioteca da sala arco-íris da UF.

Finalmente, voltei pra casa do Heraldo. Ele e o Rick tinham feito a janta. Eu me servi. Como o tempo estava frio, eles fizeram um caldo de peixe. A sobremesa era mousse de caju, eu nunca tinha comido antes. O Heraldo tinha feito de forma experimental. Conversamos bastante, nos divertimos achando pontos e gostos em comum e compartilhando histórias de vida. Estava triste de ir embora já cedo no dia seguinte. Eles foram pra cama porque acordariam cedo no dia seguinte e eu segui o exemplo. Nos despedimos. Eu ia acordar um pouco mais tarde que eles, e decidi tomar banho de manhã, antes de ir. Se eu soubesse que aqueles minutos valiosos poderiam ter feito uma grande diferença para aventura que tive no dia seguinte...

Jornada para Utopia: Dia 10 (versão de LVA)

Então eu desci e estava na estação de ônibus. Meu celular estava finalmente funcionando de novo. Eu estava de volta aos EUA, então podia ligar para o Brasil, podia usar de novo minha internet móvel. A primeira coisa, procurar locadora de automóvel em Boston. E procurei por uma na estação, não tinha nenhum. Eu vi que eu tinha que pegar o metrô e eu estaria a umas 5 estações de lá. Nada difícil comprar passagens das máquinas. Meia hora (era horário de pico) e eu já cheguei lá. Não sabia que em agências de aluguel de carro você sempre deve ter uma reserva, conseguir um sem reserva é questão de sorte. Imaginei que a pessoa apenas tinha que chegar lá e eles teriam carros disponíveis. Havia um carro grande, mas eu não queria começar a dirigir nos EUA em um carro grande. Um médio pra pequeno seria bem melhor pra mim. Eu tinha que esperar um tempo, mas eu tava bem adiantado, mesmo se eu dirigisse lentamente, podia esperar. Apareceu um carro. Dei para ela meus documentos. Eu achei que teria problemas por ter a carteira de motorista brasileira. Não, estava tudo bem. E então o problema. Eu tinha 3 cartões de crédito comigo, o brasileiro, o americano e o de dinheiro para viagem. O único que tinha limite ou fundos suficientes para a transação era o de dinheiro de viagem. Eu lhe dei esse e ela disse: “seu nome não está impresso no cartão”. Eu disse: “eu posso te mostrar o site e meu extrato”. Não. “Posso pagar com dinheiro?” Não. "Tem algum Wells Fargo aqui perto?" Eu faria uma transferência para minha conta americana. Com taxas e tudo, mas tudo bem. Só havia uma caixa eletrônica, há 80 quilômetros dali. Eu desisti. Vamos procurar alternativas. Tem um ônibus pra lá. Ele parte da... estação que eu estava.

Então eu voltei, mais meia hora e eu estava lá. De volta ao ponto zero. Pergunto lá e cá e tinha um ônibus saindo em meia hora. Então eu podia comer alguma coisa e enquanto eu estava comendo e lendo os folhetos da companhia de ônibus, o ônibus chegou. Eu estava tão feliz. Eu ainda chegaria a tempo. Subi e calculei que eu poderia chegar lá às 1h10 da tarde, apenas dez minutos atrasado. De qualquer forma, eu tinha que avisar a Marge que eu não estava de carro e iria me atrasar um pouco, calculando também o tempo de andar ou pegar um táxi do centro de Wellfleet até a casa dela. Como tinha pouquíssimos táxis em Gainesville, eu pensei que seria a mesma coisa em Wellfleet.

Mandei um e-mail para Marge dizendo a ela que eu talvez me atrasasse. Ela me perguntou porque e eu disse a ela que eu tive problemas para alugar o caro então, em vez de ir dirigindo, eu estava indo de ônibus. Ela disse que me pegaria na cidade então e ela me perguntou se eu já tinha almoçado e eu disse a ela que eu não estava com muita fome. Ela disse que o último ônibus voltando para Boston sairia às 2h00, então eu teria que conseguir fazer a entrevista com ela em 40 minutos, chegar lá e partir. E ela me encontraria no restaurante que tinha em frente ao ponto de ônibus. Fiquei tão frustrado. Eu vim de tão longe e estava tão animado com essa chance. 40 minutos?! Não me parecia justo.

Descia do ônibus onde ela me disse que eu deveria. Eu tinha que ligar pra ela para avisar que estava chegando lá. Quando desci uma garoa fina estava caindo. Havia também um pouco de vento, mas eu estava com a minha jaqueta, então tudo bem. Eu esperei 5 minutos mais ou menos e ela chegou, dirigindo seu Volvo preto.

Eu não sei que tipo de noções românticas eu tinha daquele  primeiro momento, mas eu apenas estendi minha mão e nos apresentamos oficialmente. Ela me mostrou o restaurante e nós entramos. Eu ainda não conseguia engolir o fato de eu ter que ir embora tão rapidamente. Vimos o cardápio e ela me recomendou a salada de peixe-espada. Eu não estava com fome, mas seria falta de educação e estupidez não comer. Ela ficou surpresa quando lhe disse que eu normalmente não tomo café (“Do Brasil e você não toma café?!”). Antes da comida chegar, eu abri meu computador e preparei o celular para gravar a entrevista. Ela disse que o plano era me levar pra casa dela e cozinhar algo, mas eu tinha apenas menos de uma hora... ela suspirou que esse não era um restaurante bom e que se eu tivesse mais tempo ela me levaria para o The Bookstore, um restaurante bem melhor.

Foi nesse momento que eu tomei uma decisão. "Eu não vim de tão longe para morrer na praia, mesmo que eu tenha que cometer um crime e dormir uma noite na cadeia, eu farei isso" "Não tem  cadeia aqui", ela respondeu. “Bom, está fora de temporada, eu vou pensar em um jeito.” E de fato, ela achou um jeito pra mim. Ela ligou para uma amiga, a Martha, que conseguiu me alojar em um pequeno e aconchegante chalé. Então, agora nós tínhamos muito tempo. E ela continuou me lembrando que ela se ela soubesse que teríamos mais tempo... ela não gostava mesmo daquele restaurante.

Perguntei para a Marge as questões que eu tinha em mente e no meu roteiro. Achei que foi uma entrevista maravilhosa. (Foi só depois de algumas semanas, quando eu estava a transcrevendo que percebi o quanto  ainda preciso aprender para fazer entrevistas. Sem perguntas com tanta coesão quando deveria, sem começo, meio e fim. Uma bagunça total. Ela foi gentil ao me pedir para reformular uma questão, e de novo, quando elas eram muito confusas ou desconcertantes).

Piercy tinha certeza em fazer a entrevista como uma conversa: ela estava sempre me perguntando alguma coisa e nós começamos a falar sobre o lugar que estávamos. Era minha primeira vez em Cape Cod e ela me deu uma perspectiva muito informativa. Ela concluiu dizendo que...

“Este é uma região costeira, você acha muitos lugares onde as pessoas vão para o mar, as pessoas têm uma grande tolerância porque os homens iam, para caçar baleias por um ano ou dois meses seguidos, as mulheres eram deixadas pra trás. Os homens ficavam apenas com os homens, também havia capitães negros, fora de Provincetown a escravidão ainda era legalizada. As embarcações de caça às baleias tinham uma tripulação sempre racialmente misturadas, assim como em Moby Dick. Alguns dos melhores arpoadores junto com os caiçaras, havia muita tolerância aqui desde o começo, com relação a diferentes estilos de vida e assim por diante. E então minhas perguntas começaram.

Depois do almoço, quando a entrevista tinha terminado, ainda tínhamos um tempo, eu só iria para o chalé depois das 4h00 e ela me levou pra conhecer as praias e a baía. Conversamos sobre o que estavam fazendo para a região e sobre a natureza em geral.

Como vocês podem ver, o dia não estava muito propício para nadar ou pra ficar andando na praia, então tínhamos que ficar no carro. Duas coisas nos impressionaram um pouco. A primeira foi quando estávamos dirigindo dentro do vilarejo. As ruas eram estreitas e tortuosas e quando estávamos dobrando uma esquina um caminhão gigante estava vindo na direção oposta. Estava invadindo parcialmente a nossa faixa da rua e não tinha lugar para escapar. A Marge congelou e o carro parou. Vi minha vida passar em segundos e o motorista do caminhão voltou para a outra faixa alguns segundos antes de bater. Respiramos fundo e continuamos. Logo vou contar a segunda coisa.

Teve um momento que me senti como um imbecil (havia mais desses do que eu pensei possível) quando estávamos na baia. Ela apontou para uma das casas e disse “O Howard Djinn morava aqui. Você o conhece?” Eu provavelmente respondi com minha cara de interrogação e ela estava espantada. “Você não conhece o famoso historiador? Escreveu História do Povo dos Estados Unidos?” Então eu percebi que ela estava falando de Howard Zinn, o famoso historiador, que tinha recentemente falecido. Eu já tinha lido alguns capítulos escritos por ele, mas se eu dissesse isso tenho certeza que iria soar como se eu tivesse tentando consertar a má impressão.

We still had some time, so she took me to her house and I would get to know her cats. First, we went around to see more of the region and we got a road which was a dead-end. When we got to the deadend, Marge had to make a u-turn and go back the same way. The road was narrow and she went outside it to the right and started turning. The thing is there was not enough space and to the left there was an escarpment. She was going toward it and I got tense but she realized we were not going to make it (it was deceiving, I would probably have done the same if I was driving). The car came to a halt and she had to do some steering before we could continue.


Ainda tínhamos algum tempo, então ela me levou para sua casa e eu conheceria os seus gatos. Primeiro demos umas voltas para ver a região e pegamos uma rua sem saída. Quando chegamos no fim da rua, Marge tinha que fazer um U e voltar no mesmo caminho. A rua era estreita e ela saiu dela para a direita e começou a virar. Não havia espaço e do lado esquerdo tinha uma encosta. Ela tava indo em direção a ela e fiquei tenso, mas ela percebeu que não conseguiríamos (parecia que dava, eu faria o mesmo se estivesse dirigindo). O carro parou bruscamente e ela teve que esterçar para podermos continuar.

Assim que chegamos à casa, eu estava feliz. Tinha muitos livros e estava quentinho. Fomos para o andar de cima, onde havia janelas grandes e uma sala de estar. Nos sentamos e ela disse que eu poderia fazer mais perguntas. Eu pensei, "Deus, ou o kosmos, estava me dando uma segunda chance de consertar as merdas que eu tinha feito na outra parte da entrevista."
Liguei o gravador do celular e fiz mais algumas perguntas. De novo, mais do que uma entrevista, ela me perguntou coisas também, ou encorajou que eu falasse também e estávamos na verdade conversando.

Conheci Xena e Efi. Ela chamou o Puk, mas ele não veio. Quando falei pra ela que adorava suco, ela desceu e foi pegar um copo de suco de oxicoco (nem sabia que era assim que dizia cranberry em português :O ) Ira Wood, o marido dela, chegou. Ele subiu e conversamos um pouco. Ele era a pessoa que ia me levar para a casa da Martha. Ele foi muito simpático e foi muito fácil ver como eles tinham se apaixonado.

Acho que a presença dele me fez me sentir mais confortável e eu comecei a falar pelos cotovelos sobre minha vida. Mas era hora de ir embora. Agradeci Marge e me desculpei novamente pela decisão retardatária de ter ficado mais tempo em Wellfleet. Ai se eu tivesse pensado nisso antes.

O Ira me levou até o chalé da Martha e tivemos mais chance de conversar. Foi lindo. Daí, ele me deixou lá e voltou pra casa. Quando subi, a Molly, parceira da Martha me mostrou o chalé. Foi só então que eu percebi que a câmera havia ficado no meu bolso e eu não tinha tirado nenhuma foto com a Marge. Nem no restaurante, nem na casa, em lugar nenhum. Tinha esquecido completamente e a única prova visual que tenho são as mãos dela no volante, na foto acima.

Me senti tão imbecil de ter feito aquilo. A câmera no meu bolso o tempo todo. Tinha o celular com uma câmera até melhor. Ainda assim, me senti extremamente feliz. Eu tinha sido capaz de fazer algo muito importante. Estou estudando a Piercy por um motivo e ela defende e representa uma série de valores com os quais me identifico. Rezei pra que aquela não fosse a última vez que eu a fosse encontrar (e pelos desenvolvimentos posteriores, aparentemente não será).

Essas são imagens do exterior do chalé que eu fiquei. O custo dele somado ao do ônibus foi menos do que eu gastaria com o aluguel do carro. Pude tomar um banho gostoso e fui para a cama porque estava frio. Comi o resto das guloseimas que tinha na mochila. Consegui uma rede aberta de wifi e baixei dois episódio de Fringe e um de Downton Abbey que tinha perdido. Depois de assistir liguei pro Brasil e fiquei conversando. Foi uma delícia dormir. Na manhã seguinte, acordei bem cedinho e peguei o primeiro ônibus, que passava às 7h00. Queria chegar cedo em Boston pra dar tempo de visitar mais coisas. Algumas fotos matutinas tiradas no ponto de ônibus.

PS - Mesmo antes da entrevista eu estava preparando um poema para a Marge e a situação me deu mais material para terminá-lo. Nunca imaginei que ela fosse ler, que dirá comentá-lo, e ela fez os dois.  =)
Para ler o poema, em inglês, clique aqui.

Alice wakes up from her Utopic dream: Last day

"There are things we all do in our lives that afterward we ask ourselves again and again and again, Why? What was I thinking of? What did I imagine would happen? How could I do it, to him and to me? I invent, I elaborate reasons, but the fact of stupidity remains. Stupidity is a great  mystery to me, how I can sometimes do something so counter to reason and evidence that it amazes me when I have a little distance from it." Marge Piercy, Sleeping with Cats

So, there was the last great adventure before hitting home and resuming daily life. I was going home and even though I had so many good memories of that trip and had been successful in pretty much everything, I had still a day to go.
I was very excited because I could have bought a flight down and instead, I wanted to take advantage of the fact I was in a different country and wanted to see the people, the landscape, I wanted to go slower and really feel what being 3000 feet above the ground would not permit me to see.

So I woke up early and had a long shower to help me through the day. I was sure there were no showers in the train, so how would I take a shower later? Heraldo had showed me where the fruit and cereal were and told me I should eat whatever I wanted. After I left their house, I went to a convenience store and bought some snacks for the trip. People had warned me that train food was expensive and horrible. Cookies would not be enough to go through the 24 hours but they were a good start. When I checked the watch, I was running a bit late. I calculated and started running to get the subway and was counting down each station. It took me half an hour to get to South Station. I had about 5 minutes to get on the train. Where is it? Let's ask at the ticket counter. "Your train left 5 minutes ago." Shock. "Excuse me, it says here 11:45 and now..." Rolled eyes. "It's 11:45 from Back Bay, not South station". "Do you mean I came 10 subways stations instead of 4, and I missed the train because I didn't realize there were two train stations in the city?!" She smiled, feeling protected by the thick glass. "Well, does that mean I lost the 130.00 I paid to get to Florida?" She checked the computer. "I can put you in another train for you to get to New York. Instead of having 2:30 hours to connect, you are going to have half an hour. It's risky, you have to pray that this one to NY does not get any delays." What-else-can-I-do face. "How much is is?" "118.00" What? I paid 130 to get from Boston to Florida, crossing the country and I would have to spend almost the same amount of money. To get to NY? "OK, let's do it.

So, I would have to be very quick in New York. I had to wait for 40 minutes more or less to get on. A gentleman in a suit sat by my side and I got the window seat. I would try to be calm, I had already freaked out on Facebook, but if I had woken up earlier, if I had taken a faster shower or none at all... Anyway, no use crying over spilt milk.

I tried to have some fun taking pictures of the landscape, after all, that was one of the reasons I had wanted to go by land. To see it, to interact with it. I loved the fact I had a plug on my seat. I was on my cellphone almost all trip long. Especially when it was night and I could barely see a thing outside. I was not talking on the phone. I was just playing my version of Angry Birds. I was playing my game. But the first part of the trip was more to observe and be delighted by nature.

There was no delay getting to New York. I would really have the half an hour to... buy some food and see New York. I got my bags and ran around the station, looking for two things, where I could buy food to take away and where the exit was. I found both but decided to go outside. I was chatting to a friend and he said: "You are going to be in New York and not see New York? Are you stupid?" Don't answer that. Had he known then what was yet to come. So, I went to the sidewalk and was overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of people walking, driving, talking on their phones. I got my camera, took these two photos and got back into Penn station. I had 15 minutes and counting.

I went to a KFC and got some chicken salad and some other chicken stuff, left without the soda I was sure was included in the combo and spotted the line I should be in. Of course I confirmed twice as I wouldn't afford to be in the wrong line and missing the other train. I had apparently learned the lesson and it was with relief the guy checked my passport and ticket and wrote a Jacksonville tag, placing it on my seat plate and I was ready to get some more of what the US could give me. I saw Philadelphia, and was surprised when I got to DC. I had no idea we would go West instead of going directly South, along the coast. I was always keeping track of where I was with my GPS.
I had lunch and dinner and the guy who was sitting next to me and I did not exchange a word. Well, I didn't insist much but I overhead most of the conversation the old lady and the guy were having just behind me. Good stories they were.

As the night fell, we had already crossed Maryland and Virginia. I remember we stopped at a station in Richmond. Then, in North Carolina we went through Fayetteville, but it was too dark for me to see anything. When it was about 2am I decided it was time to start sleeping. I had already got used to sleeping sitting on buses and now on the train. Most of the people in my wagon were sleeping. So, I managed to fall asleep and didn't see or heard anything during the South Carolina part of the trip. When I woke up the sun was rising. I checked and we were already in Georgia.

The Georgia part was pretty much forest and trees. There was no phone or internet signal, so the GPS was not working and neither was my game. I watched the trees go by and I guess I started reading one of the books I had taken to the trip.
About 9am we arrived in Jacksonville and I got off the train. I was tired and had slept only few hours. I wanted to get home soon. But there was still a lot to go through.

The thing is, I had not planned what to do in this part of the trip. Somehow I had imagined I would get off the train and be magically transported from Jacksonville to Gainesville. They were neighboring cities anyway, how difficult would it be to get a bus and get home? Trying to be independent, and in one of the most stupid movements, I saw no information desk, so I walked off the station without asking for information on where to find a bus station. I opened the map on my phone, and decided to walk in one direction until I reached downtown or a station.

I got to a very large and busy avenue, more similar to a highway. I walked and walked and decided I should try hitchhiking. I put my thumb up, my bag down and waited and waited. I was scared and excited. It was the first time I was doing that in my life. No one seemed to care, maybe it was the part of the road. Cars were passing by so fast, they had no way to stop. So I started walking back to the station but I didn't want to look like a loser, so every twenty steps I would put my thumb up, hoping someone would pull over and tell me to hop in.

When I was almost getting back to the station, a guy started shouting to me. He ran a little and caught up and asked me what was going on. I told him I was trying to get a ride home and he asked me where home was. I said I lived in Gainesville.

He said he and his wife could take me to Gainesville and I thought the idea of hitchhiking had been accomplished. Someone had paid attention and soon I would be home. He took me to a motel near the station and I met his big wife there. The room was dark and he started talking about the police and if I had a debit card and if I had it they would be able to take me. I gave him some money for gas and he said they could not leave the city if I didn't have 100 dollars because apparently, if the police stopped us on the road, they would  need to have that money to give the cops. When he started talking like this, I should have run but all I did was to think his story made sense. He took me to the car. It was a sketchy van, without windows on the back part, where he made me sit on a tire. There were suitcases and clothes and things scattered all over the floor. I saw some red spots. Was that blood?

Again, where did I get the courage or the lack of self-preservation to enter that weird van? Didn't I remember  the urban legends from childhood of clowns taking kids and stealing their organs in the black market?

They took me to an ATM and I gave them the money. I said I wanted to keep it with me, but they said the cops would think it strange that someone on the back was giving the money and would ask me questions and I was not from the US. Bullshit, but I had stopped thinking by then. I gave them the money and now we could go to Gainesville and in case no police stopped us, they would give me the money back.

So he was driving and they started arguing. The woman gave him half of the money and kept the other half to herself, and I thought that was strange. Then he started driving around the city, he would park and leave the car for 20 minutes or more, and come back. Red eyes and weird breathing. He was burning the money on drugs. Meanwhile I was giving the woman some advice on how to strengthen her self-esteem.

I started getting cranky because my body was sore and I wanted to get home. It was more than midday. I started yelling at them. He said he was not taking me to Gainesville, I started shouting I wanted my money back. He gave me 20 dollars back. I was on the verge of crying and hitting him, and started saying I would have no way to get home because that money was all I had.

The left me at the train station. I was so angry and confused, tired. I called 911 and a cop came and I told him my story. He must have thought I was retarded for having kept on going even when it was clear that it was a scam. How could a person be so naive? Even the woman, in one of the conversations we held told me that. People want to hurt you, beware.

I asked about a way to get to Gainesville. I had to take a bus to go downtown. There was a Greyhound bus station. I got there about 2pm. When I asked the attendant for a ticket to Gainesville, she looked at me as if I had called her the worst names possible and said there were no more buses to Gainesville. In fact, there hadn't been that day, maybe the morning one would, but she was not sure.

So I sat on a bench and started thinking, for a change. I was 100 miles away from home. How many hours does it take to walk 100 miles? Google has it, 18 hours without stops. I was not ready for that. There were no alternatives online. So I despaired and started texting my friends in Gainesville who had cars and were available to come and pick me up. I would pay for the gas. No one could. Some were out of town. I felt I wanted to lie down and forget I existed. So, some suggestions came. I took one of them: I could go to the airport and get a shuttle to Gainesville. I walked from the bus station to a city bus terminal. Waited for 30 minutes for a bus to the airport. Got to the airport after another 20 minutes riding. I could try renting a car, it might be cheaper than the shuttle, but I was not emotionally prepared, tired and all, to drive.

So, I talked to the girl and she said the shuttle would be 144.00. I got angry, especially at myself. I should have predicted that. I felt I would have to buy nothing for the next months to compensate for my stupidity. It had been an expensive misadventure. About 6 pm, I got to my house, almost 8 hours later than I would have if I had thought ahead.

And feeling like a piece of trash (let's be euphemistic), I took a shower and went to bed. I promised myself I would never travel again.