Hitch-Hiking with the Locals

    The car is full, so one of my friends, Daniel (also called Jack Daniels), offers to hitch-hike with me to Morro. Daniel, being Brazilian and speaking Portuguese eases my concerns of successfully hitching to Morro. I lag getting my bag packed and am informed that we are crunched for time, we have to get to Valencia before 3 to catch the last Ferry to Morro. We hike to the road leading out of town, and wait in the baking sun for cars to pass by in hopes of a ride.
    Hitch-hiking in Brazil is much different than the hitch-hiking that I have witnessed in The States. If you put your thumb out in Brazil, driver's who pass will all give you some sort of hand gesture or stop to explain why they can't give you a ride. I tell Daniel that you would be lucky to have someone make eye-contact back home, it was refreshing to see people show concern for people trying to catch a ride.
    After 45 minutes we catch a ride to Morro with a couple, or at least I thought that's what happened. They end up taking us only a couple miles to another intersection where we find ourselves back out in the sun with our thumbs in the air. This time, the first car that passes pulls over and let's out another hitch-hiker and let's us in. I buckle up and off we go. Our driver seems as if he is in a race, squeaking the tires as he rounds turns, hitting the gas any chance he gets, all the while looking as if he were taking a leisurely drive through the countryside. 20 minutes later, he pulls off and let's us out to my dismay.
    We are really pressed for time to make the last ferry and we find ourselves in the middle of nowhere in the heat of the day with nowhere to run from the sun. We wait patiently for cars which are less frequent on this stretch of road but luckily by the 4th car, we catch a ride. This driver doesn't drive as fast as the last one, but turns out to be a conversationalist with a vast array of hand gestures and too much eye contact as he drives and rants on with Daniel. He is animated in his stories, which I know nothing of what he is saying except when he says 'gringo' and looks in his rear-view mirror at me. Daniel at first seems interested in talking with him, but eventually starts to fall asleep. The driver isn't allowing this, so he pulls over and buys us beers, including himself, I oblige not to be rude but am now concerned for my safety.
    The driver keeps lighting cigarettes and spitting out the window, seeming to be more interested in telling Daniel stories than driving. We end up hitting a pothole and blowing out a rear tire and at this point in time I start thinking how I can gracefully explain that I'm going to get another ride in broken Portuguese. The driver replaces the tire in record time and before I know it, we load back up and our on our way. The rain starts, but our driver seems to have settles in a little and we are getting close to our destination. He stops for one more round of beers and 10 minutes later we arrive in Valencia unscathed and we both give a thanks to the powers above. In the end it was quite the experience, something I would have never done had I not been with a Brazilian local. I think I'll stick to the buses at least until we get to Spanish-speaking Countries where I can kind of understand whats going on.