The Next Thirty Minutes

    As I blithely brushed the bread crumbs from my nightshirt, I slowly began to wonder what we would do next, having an entire day in Rio de Janiero ahead of us.
     Under the impression that bused tours with numerous tourists like ourselves were the safest and easiest route, we consulted the man at the front desk once more, whose name I'd learned was Raphael. After listening to us for a few seconds, he nodded in affirmation and told us in a thick Portuguese accent, that they did indeed offer a tour which would last from 1:00 PM to 5:00 PM.
      Rummaging through his desk for a couple of seconds, he soon produced  a heavily creased sheet of paper, that was the tour service's itinerary. After examining it for a couple moments, we learned that the it promised to take us to Candelária Church, Pão de Açúcar, a section of the favelas, and finally the legendary, Cristo Redentor. Deciding it would be far safer and cheaper than a taxi, we immediately accepted, eager to begin our journey.
     As my parents and I leaned against the rough, stone wall of the building, we conversed briefly  of what we could expect. Suddenly, Raphael hastily appeared at the doorway, clutching both sides of the entrance and apologetically informing us that there were no spots left on the bus. Seeing our questioning glances, he went further to explain that because of the recent Confederation Cup, there was a sudden influx of tourists, leaving no spots open.       
        Not wanting to strand the family of disheartened tourists, Raphael quickly replied that he'd make a few phone calls.
        Crestfallen with unappealing news, we again accepted his offer. At this point, I had few hopes of finding a way to tour the vast and exotic city of Rio de Janiero. It was almost as if we were on a great, beautiful body of water, equipped with a sturdy, infallible canoe, but without oars to guide us forward.
    I was lost in thought with the wistful simile, when at that very moment, Raphael reappeared at the doorway, grinning cheekily.  He'd just found someone who would take us on a day-long tour of Rio de Janiero.
          Our eyes widened in relief and renewed excitement, and we promptly thanked him for his assistance. Raphael returned the smile, grinning from ear to ear, as he told us  the man would arrive at about 10:00 AM. We quickly inspected our watches. It was 8:40.
       In thirty minutes or so , we were completely prepared, having full bottles of fresh water, clean apparel, three cameras, and zealous, seemingly unconquerable spirits. By the time we'd finished, it was about 9:30, and we soon commenced waiting for our guide to arrive. As I calmly stood outside, while leaning against the stone building, I wondered about  what to expect. What would our guide be like? Patient and friendly or coarse and brash, reluctantly rushing us to two landmarks, and then leaving us to our own fates? Then again, where would he take us? Would he show us everything the buses would? Candelária Church, Pão de Açúcar, the favelas, and  Cristo Redentor? We didn't know, but we were sure to find out within the next thirty minutes.