Paths Diverging Yet Converging

Juliano, Marcozi, and I left the Albergue together, embarking on our respective paths: Juliano towards São Paulo, me towards Florianópolis, and Marcozi's direction was uncertain. Attempting to hitchhike proved futile, so we took to the trail on foot. Marcozi, seeking to indulge in cachaça, soon chose to stay behind, leaving Juliano and me to proceed alone.

The trek to the next gas station stretched beyond three hours in the rain, with the muddy path making our journey challenging. During our walk, we shared travel stories; Juliano expressed his passion for traveling, mentioning his trip to São Paulo was a means to an end for another journey.

After unsuccessful attempts at hitchhiking at the gas station, Juliano persuaded me to continue walking. This experience made me reflect on the essence of walking and whether it was a reminder not to get too comfortable with the ease of hitchhiking.

Along the way, Juliano scavenged for food at a restaurant and a family home, a practice I had become accustomed to. We gratefully accepted the offerings, filling our stomachs.

Our journey continued through the rain-soaked paths, my pants splattered with mud. Eventually, I walked barefoot, finding it easier than struggling in sandals. Today, we didn't hitchhike at all. As night fell, Juliano and I decided to sleep rough, finding a spot in front of a motorcycle shop with a roof near a tap - an ideal place for the night. I hoped it wouldn't be as cold as in Uruguay.

While chatting with the shop owner, an older man approached us. He was intrigued by my status as an "Eastern traveler" and was delighted when I wrote his name in Korean. After a pleasant conversation, he handed us each two reais and wished us a safe journey before leaving.

Juliano insisted on visiting the bar, recalling my earlier suggestion of having a beer. We finally headed there and ordered a Brahma beer for 2.50 reais, which was refreshingly cold. We quickly finished it, and at Juliano's insistence, fueled by the four reais he had, we had another beer and two shots of cachaça. We played pool with two men from the bar, winning one game each. Juliano, competitive as ever, seemed disappointed on our return, but I reassured him, suggesting happiness in our equal victories.

Wandering through the dim streets, we stopped at houses for dinner, again receiving help without expectation of return. Marcozi 's words echoed in my mind, questioning if they were merely comforting excuses for those with nothing.

I recalled a lesson from my first economics class in college: "There's no such thing as a free lunch." Was I destined to bear this growing emotional debt, hoping to one day repay it? My upbringing had taught me to be calculative, but I wondered if this mindset of avoiding harm to others was, in reality, a self-imposed isolation.