After spending a week battling altitude sickness in Bolivia, I flew to Rio and took the boat to Ilha Grande to treat myself to some sun and beachtime. The island was stunning, very green, gorgeous beaches and a small village with some hotels and tourist shops. There is only one car on the island and it’s used as a firetruck, police car and ambulance all in one, very multifunctional. Instead of exploring the island, I ended up with a stomach bug on day 1 and as a bonus it rained for days. I stuck around long enough for one sunny day and decided to leave the island on June 5th, a day before my 24th birthday and travel south to spend a night in the city of Paraty in a really nice hotel.
I left the hotel in a hurry around noon, I almost forgot my passport in the safe and couldn’t find the keys. Luckily two girls who cleaned the hotel demolished the small safe, helped me get on my backpack, took my handbag & foodbag and 4 of their own (at least that’s what I vaguely thought) bags and we ran to the dock, where the boat was waiting for me since I was the only passenger. It was a large, wooden boat and the captain helped me on board and put my luggage next to the girls’ plastic bags and we all waved goodbye to the girls. When we left the harbour I decided to sit in the very front of the boat, with my back turned to the captain and his crew, my luggage and the island. I sat in the sun, looked at the lush green hills across the sea and we made it to the other side with time to spare- so I had all the time in the world to find the bus to Paraty. Well, I couldn't have been more wrong...
I left the hotel in a hurry around noon, I almost forgot my passport in the safe and couldn’t find the keys. Luckily two girls who cleaned the hotel demolished the small safe, helped me get on my backpack, took my handbag & foodbag and 4 of their own (at least that’s what I vaguely thought) bags and we ran to the dock, where the boat was waiting for me since I was the only passenger. It was a large, wooden boat and the captain helped me on board and put my luggage next to the girls’ plastic bags and we all waved goodbye to the girls. When we left the harbour I decided to sit in the very front of the boat, with my back turned to the captain and his crew, my luggage and the island. I sat in the sun, looked at the lush green hills across the sea and we made it to the other side with time to spare- so I had all the time in the world to find the bus to Paraty. Well, I couldn't have been more wrong...
French Guys' Bags I got ready to get up and get my bags when we entered the harbour, but instead of heading to the dock, we started circling around, slowly. I looked at the captain who was talking on the phone, both him and the crew were...staring at me? None of them spoke English, but they made it clear I couldn’t leave the boat and in the distance, I saw a small boat heading our way. Alarm bells went off in my head, but why? Suddenly a familiar face stepped aboard, it was the front desk woman from the hotel! I felt relieved, I knew her! Did I forgot something at the hotel, a charger maybe? She walked towards me and said in a hostile tone ‘Mary- do you remember me?!’ I politely said ‘Yes! How are you?’
What happened next changed everything, including my faith in humanity. Okay maybe that’s a bit dramatic but read on and you’ll get the point. She stood right in front of me and yelled ‘WHY DID YOU STEEL THE FUCKING BAGS?’ My mind was racing and my gut told me this was not good. I asked ‘What bags?’ She pointed at the four plastic bags- the ones the cleaning girls put on the boat. For a second I felt relieved again ‘Those! Those aren’t mine!’ Wrong answer. She yelled ‘EXACTLY YOU FUCKING THIEF’. I sensed this was going the wrong way and I started -crying- . Really. For those of you who wonder, yes I am physically able to cry; just not a big fan of it. My worst fear about traveling in Brazil (next to being shot/stabbed/shark bitten) was to end up in prison because of a misunderstanding- like Bridget Jones.
This Bitch was the only person on the boat that spoke English so it was easy for her to turn the crew against me, since I didn't speak Portuguese. Panicking, I called my mom but in the middle of a sentence MY PHONE DIED. The Bitch forced me to stay on board, back to island because ‘that’s where it happened’. I tried and tried to get her to listen and explain: it was a simple misunderstanding! HER cleaners made a mistake assuming those other bags in the lobby were mine- I never touched them. In the bags were a pair of sneakers sticking out (European size 46), sweaters (XXL) and more clothes belonging to 2 French guys. It NEVER occurred to me the girls thought the bags were mine since I don’t have a shoe size twice my feet nor the desire to drown in a sweater. The guys on the boat knew I never touched those bags but were afraid of her so they didn’t speak up. The severity of this situation started to sink in as the boat hit the open sea again and my ugly crying turned into shock- prison? I sat still, feeling numb, alone and afraid. It felt like ages before we reached the island again, locals were looking, pointing at me, The Bitch smiled, loving the attention. I was a thief, she was a hero.
Two policemen were waiting for me on the dock, dressed in blue shorts with matching caps, white polo’s and socks, sunglasses and very big guns. One looked EXACTLY like The Rock (Dwayne Johnson) and this made everything seem even more like a bad movie. The Bitch and gloating locals walked behind us, a weird little parade we were, along the beach -past the hotel- to the police station. Instead of going inside the station I had to sit outside so that everyone who walked by/came to watch could see me. I had gone into shock 2.0 at this time, I wasn't crying but trembling and dug my nails into my hands to make sure this wasn’t a movie but real life. Like Bridget Jones ended up in a Thai prison (‘tiny misunderstanding to do with a enormous stash of cocaine'). I was in utter disbelieve that I, too, was being framed. Not for unknowingly smuggling cocaine but for a mistake two 15-year old cleaners made. The Brazilian Bitch, who by the way frustratingly looked like a short version of a Victoria’s Secret model, kept cursing and yelling at me, calling me names I blocked from my memory. She was on the phone speaking to the French guys, because OFCOURSE she was also fluent in French so at one point she was insulting me in three languages at the same time, and still refusing to listen to me…
What happened next changed everything, including my faith in humanity. Okay maybe that’s a bit dramatic but read on and you’ll get the point. She stood right in front of me and yelled ‘WHY DID YOU STEEL THE FUCKING BAGS?’ My mind was racing and my gut told me this was not good. I asked ‘What bags?’ She pointed at the four plastic bags- the ones the cleaning girls put on the boat. For a second I felt relieved again ‘Those! Those aren’t mine!’ Wrong answer. She yelled ‘EXACTLY YOU FUCKING THIEF’. I sensed this was going the wrong way and I started -crying- . Really. For those of you who wonder, yes I am physically able to cry; just not a big fan of it. My worst fear about traveling in Brazil (next to being shot/stabbed/shark bitten) was to end up in prison because of a misunderstanding- like Bridget Jones.
This Bitch was the only person on the boat that spoke English so it was easy for her to turn the crew against me, since I didn't speak Portuguese. Panicking, I called my mom but in the middle of a sentence MY PHONE DIED. The Bitch forced me to stay on board, back to island because ‘that’s where it happened’. I tried and tried to get her to listen and explain: it was a simple misunderstanding! HER cleaners made a mistake assuming those other bags in the lobby were mine- I never touched them. In the bags were a pair of sneakers sticking out (European size 46), sweaters (XXL) and more clothes belonging to 2 French guys. It NEVER occurred to me the girls thought the bags were mine since I don’t have a shoe size twice my feet nor the desire to drown in a sweater. The guys on the boat knew I never touched those bags but were afraid of her so they didn’t speak up. The severity of this situation started to sink in as the boat hit the open sea again and my ugly crying turned into shock- prison? I sat still, feeling numb, alone and afraid. It felt like ages before we reached the island again, locals were looking, pointing at me, The Bitch smiled, loving the attention. I was a thief, she was a hero.
Two policemen were waiting for me on the dock, dressed in blue shorts with matching caps, white polo’s and socks, sunglasses and very big guns. One looked EXACTLY like The Rock (Dwayne Johnson) and this made everything seem even more like a bad movie. The Bitch and gloating locals walked behind us, a weird little parade we were, along the beach -past the hotel- to the police station. Instead of going inside the station I had to sit outside so that everyone who walked by/came to watch could see me. I had gone into shock 2.0 at this time, I wasn't crying but trembling and dug my nails into my hands to make sure this wasn’t a movie but real life. Like Bridget Jones ended up in a Thai prison (‘tiny misunderstanding to do with a enormous stash of cocaine'). I was in utter disbelieve that I, too, was being framed. Not for unknowingly smuggling cocaine but for a mistake two 15-year old cleaners made. The Brazilian Bitch, who by the way frustratingly looked like a short version of a Victoria’s Secret model, kept cursing and yelling at me, calling me names I blocked from my memory. She was on the phone speaking to the French guys, because OFCOURSE she was also fluent in French so at one point she was insulting me in three languages at the same time, and still refusing to listen to me…
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