The Albergue

The knock on the door jolted me awake at 7:40 AM. I opened the door to find the gentleman from the social welfare center, who offered bus arrangements for me to Pelotas for today. I quickly gathered my belongings. Despite having sealed my food in plastic, I found it besieged by a swarm of ants. Hastily double-bagging the invaded provisions, I stepped outside to find a van waiting. The man drove me to the bus terminal. A quick check confirmed the next bus wasn't until 9:30 AM. We parted ways after expressing my gratitude for the bus ticket he provided. Seeking breakfast, I cautiously inspected my food. The fried treats Daniel had given me were a lost cause to the ants. But the bread and ham looked salvageable after a brisk shake. I fashioned a sandwich as I awaited the bus. In the meantime, two more women from the social welfare center approached me. They asked if I wanted to contact the Korean embassy in Porto Alegre. Although I appreciated their offer, I declined and told them that I wanted to keep traveling as I am. They nodded in understanding and wished me luck before leaving. Their sincerity moved me deeply.

As I settled into the comfortable seats of the bus, gazing out the window at the passing landscape, the sense of comfort felt oddly unfamiliar. After a pleasant three-hour bus ride, I arrived in Pelotas. My first stop was the Albergue Noturno Pelotense, which was recommended by the welfare center as a place to stay for the night. Despite the language barrier, I eventually found the building. Pelotas' scorching heat made me sweat profusely.

The building was similar to the free shelters in Montevideo, intended for people without homes. I hoped to enter the building soon, but a man informed me that I could only enter after 7 p.m. With some time to kill, I decided to explore the city center. The diverse mix of people reminded me that I was now in Brazil. The colorful tapestry of Brazil was a evident contrast to the predominantly Caucasian populations of Argentina and Uruguay. Everything from the attire to the hairstyles and the collective vibe was distinct. Drawn into a church, I offered a brief prayer and continued my aimless wander. A beer ad at a supermarket caught my eye, and on a whim, I bought a bottle of Brahma - Brazil's signature beer. I sat at a table outside, savoring my lunch with the cold beer. The ice cold beer felt incredibly refreshing to my parched throat. Reviewing my budget, it seemed I've let my guard down a bit now that I've arrived in Brazil. Distance-wise, I've only covered half the journey, and there's still a long way to go.

Once again, I found myself trapped by a recurring thought: what exactly am I searching for? I attempted to reassure myself with the conviction that the heavens were keeping an eye on me. If that were the case, then every step along my journey would surely have significance. At times, I ponder about Che Guevara and the reasons why he still captivates people. It seems that his enthusiasm and compassion attracted more people than the political agenda he upheld. Despite living in a society vastly different from his vision, people continue to embrace and accept him and still long for him, evident in their choice of wearing his T-shirts and reading his biography. I also find myself contemplating: is poverty the core issue? Or is it the structural inadequacies in our society that fuel societal disparities? If so, is the problem's crux rooted in the structural dynamics of the free market and capitalism, which intensify wealth inequalities? Or, is the real problem in how this social system programs us to equate 'economic inequality' with 'inequality in happiness'?

As 7 p.m. approached, I returned to the shelter. I had to go through a quick security check during which they confiscated my bread knife before I could enter. Once inside, I found the shelter bustling with homeless individuals going about their daily routines. After showing my passport at the office, I was given a towel and directed towards the showers. To my surprise, they also provided meals. They set a plate filled with chicken, beef, bean soup, pasta, rice, and vegetables before me -- it was possibly the most nutritious meal I'd had in a while. After finishing the first plate, the server generously refilled it, seeing my empty plate. I ate until I couldn't move and sat blankly on a bench outside the dining area. As time passed, I noticed a group of people gathering in a circle, with two men at the center engaging in what seemed like a religious discussion. Even though I couldn't understand them, I sat down and watched them for a while. Once the group dispersed, I was escorted to my bed. Instead of resting, I decided to step outside for some fresh air. Unfortunately, my Asian features caught the attention of many, and it was hard to find some peace. Conversations were difficult due to the language barrier, but an older man who spoke Spanish helped facilitate communication. A young man approached me with his Bible. He opened the back of it and asked me to write his name in Korean. He was ecstatic at my writing, and he too shared his idea of tattooing his name in Korean, which seemed to be a trend in Brazil.

The evening was filled with laughter and conversations. As It was time for a soccer match, many flocked to the dining hall where a television was set up. Sitting with the locals, I found watching their passion for soccer more intriguing than the match itself.