The purpose of the trip, because 'travel' was not interested. As they say, is not 'important to the show, but the road that has' traveled. Or something like that.
conscious this morning the two main points of the route. Departure: Divina Providencia. Arrival: Rua Primeiro de Maio.
Transport: candonghero.
"C andon ... what?" so I think I actually said 'the first time, come Luanda, I have shown this kind of blue and white van that crowds the streets of the capital. It is said
candonghero: taxi, as well as' only means of transport for many Angolans without your own car. Basic elements: the driver and the quebrador, we known as the conductor, but with 'a particular predisposition for tasting beer. I think it's contract. 
Since that first fleeting presentation on my arrival in Luanda, I began to grow secretly hope one day to climb up one of these candonghero. Still it was spoken with an aura of legend, stories of shootings that had occurred on board, not quite idyllic perfumes, a guide that we euphemistically define sport, muggings ...
So at the first opportunity, accompanying a native, we embarked.
completely banned: short trousers, 'cause the seats may file a pleasant bits of iron, no flip-flops, the mud invades the city streets.
And, above all, well-placed camera in his desk drawer at home.
Cosi 'briskly we approach the meeting point for most candonghero' next to the Divine.
The first leads us to Avocumbi. We are 16 people. It is a bit 'tight. The passengers' heads rhythmically swaying a bit 'for the holes and a little' to Michael Bolton crying in the background.
The second leads us to Congolensi. And we say 'a little' less luxury before, some iron comes out from the seat without the cover, the music is not 'more' among the options. We are in 15. Despite the difficulty 'to sit someone turns around to look at us curiously. Perhaps also hints at a smile.
The third brings us to the Rua Primeiro de Maio. Back in 16.
now I am used to, and 'fun to go through the hidden streets of Baire. A woman next to me, from almost nothing, he begins to explain why 'congolensi so called'.
arrival in Venice '(30 minutes travel vouchers) and take care of the Board, we plan to allow a rapid caffettino, but turns inevitabilmetne in a coke, we're not in Italy.
Starting over backwards. Same location and same stages. But during rush hour. Traffic. The
candonghero turns out to be a bit 'like the joker, is everywhere: in the wrong direction on the sidewalks, turning suddenly cuts in front of the car, stops, scoured, Strip pedestrians. And all this while already 'mentioned quebrador, the window with a beer in hand, without even a little spill, shouting the destination of the vehicle, hoping to pull up some other passengers on the street. Quote
record: 18 people. More 'to another and' added in the running, sitting down beside me and pushing me dangerously close to the box of eggs, 100 and more 'eggs, my neighbor. It ', in addition to passengers, there are also non-transferable their luggage. Gia 'I imagine a hole the right ones and the omelet on my pants. But all goes well.
get home sweaty and happy. Ready for the next race.
The legends are not always true.
