Finding our Oars

     As we casually lingered outside the sturdy, stone building, the slender hands of our watches ticked steadily closer and closer to 10:00. I repeatedly shifted my weight from one foot to the other  as I anticipated our guide's arrival.

       We must have waited about five more minutes, until we finally heard the distinct rumble of tires across the street, and a faint clicking noise, as if someone where turning off the ignition. I looked again, past the reassuring gate, to sight  a bright, gleaming, orange van, with several stickers pasted to the sides and back, each reading, "Bambui Eco Tour, Viva esta experiência."

     I stood on tiptoe so I could catch a glimpse of who would soon emerge from the vehicle, and be destined to be our guide for the day.

        At last, I heard the door unlock, as a tall figure stepped out from the car. Having bronzed skin, and a tall, muscular build, the new arrival appeared to be of African descent. As he walked toward us, I noticed he was wearing a dull grey T-shirt that read the name of his tour service, and had a dark geometric pattern printed across his right arm. As he edged close enough to the hostel, I noticed that his face was round, and jocund, and boyish, appearing confident and cheerful.

          When he finally stepped past the metal gate, he widened his eyes  at us, as if taking us all in, and gave us a warm, broad smile, as he flashed his white teeth at as. After introducing himself as Evandro Da Silva, he firmly shook hands with each of us, as he effusively told us how excited he was to be showing us Rio that day.

      It was only about five minutes until we paid him his dues, and promptly slid into the bright, orange van. As the sliding door slid shut, I thought that maybe we'd found our oars after all, and that we'd soon be smoothly sailing the waters of Rio de Janiero.