Getting into Sao Paulo

It helped that I was seated near the front of the airplane, but never before have I gone through Immigration, baggage claim and Customs in less than 15 minutes! This was, nevertheless, extremely pleasant and frustrating at the same time. The reason being that I had a domestic flight booked from Sao Paulo to Manaus. I knew that the early flight--which was originally slotted for 9:30 but had been moved up to 9:10am--was highly unlikely, so I had already changed my ticket for the 2:30pm flight; leaving me with a 5.5 hour layover. However, getting through the entry process so quickly, I actually made it to the domestic check-in counter at 9:08! I looked at the attendant standing near the back of the line and asked her, already knowing the answer, if there was any way (in hell) I could get on the 9:10. She just looked at me and said, "No."

Fair enough. Luckily I found a seat in the airport hallway near check-in where I'm getting a good wireless signal and can fool around online for a bit. At least until my battery fades out: 48% and counting.

The flight from Newark to Sao Paulo was pretty good; even entertaining, to say the least. I sat next to a hyperactive German businessman who had flown into New York from San Fransicso and made a quick phone call on his Blackberry to a colleague in Singapore before the cabin doors were closed. Before making his call though, he made some small talk with me, became buddies with the flight staff and had ordered champagne. He was obviously a very frequent flyer, and in the next few hours pulled off a fine balance of barking orders at the staff to get what he wanted and flattering them with praise for how wonderful everything was; a real sign of a true businessman, I suppose, is being able to do this properly. Anyway, while on the phone, in pseudo-multi-tasker mode, he circled what he wanted on the menu and handed it to the flight staff. After take-off, when the seatbelt sign was off, before dinner, he made a quick stop to the lavatory, and 5 minutes later was getting plied with the best champagne on offer, which he knew by name. At that point I hadn't even gotten the beer I ordered, and when I did it was a Corona and not the Fosters that I'd requested. The flight staff poured him the last of the champagne by dessert and then he ordered some port with his cheese, crackers and grapes, and finally, before turning in to sleep for the remainder of the flight, he ordered a congac and bottle of water; and then we was out for the duration. When he ordered the cognac, he was emphatic that I try it as well, ("Really, they are so wonderful here," he exclaimed, well within earshot of the staff), but I declined.

As he drank his cognac and readied for slumber, I was sipping a decaf coffee topped off with Baily's and reading an article in the Atlantic about "intelligence augmentation", using technology--like cell phones and web clouds--and even drugs like modafinil--a prescription drug for narcoleptics and, increasingly, frequent business flyers--that are basically stimulants that the author claimed can make you smarter. I looked over at my seat neighbor and decided then and there that this was exactly the type of guy the article was describing. I don't know if he was on modafinil, but I wouldn't have been surprised, although I don't know how well that mixes with champagne, port wine and cognac. But he was a nice enough guy, professional looking, polite, direct and--maybe most importantly, very smiley. And since the movies on the flight were of no interest, he provided me with some entertainment during the flight.

I also managed to sleep through most of the flight, and then awoke 2 hours before landing to have breakfast, read the NYTimes and have coffee--my chosen "intelligence augmenter"--sans Baily's, con caffeine this time. Since I still have 3+ hours before my next flight, and the PC battery is now at 25%, I suppose I'll go exchange some money and see if I can't find a good article to read on Brazilian dog owners letting their puppies poop in the middle of Concourse B and then walking away (I wish I was kidding).