Me And My Wheelchair in A Third World Country

By Andrea Cronrod

In search of the promised land, I headed to rural Brazil. I figured I could just put big tires on my scooter/wheelchair and plant new roots in the Amazon rain forest, a place not adaptive to mobility vehicles.

After thirty-four years in Hawaiian paradise, what began as a quest to make a new home in a foreign land, ended up as a lesson in survival techniques. I applied creative solutions to the continual bombardment of toxic irritants that plagued me with chemical sensitivity.

As an adventurer at heart ready for anything at any time, I lived in fight or flight mode. Three weeks in a third world country felt like three years.

                                                                                      

• Language: English
• Publisher: anakalia
• Release date: Dec 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201656294

Book preview

Table of Contents

Los Angeles to Brazil

Hotel Marino on the Run

At the Posada | Behind Barrier Walls

Concrete Jungle Day

Friday at the Coco Stand

Down on the Boardwalk

A Day at the Circus

Is God at the Hotel Melici Maceio

Music and Dance

A Venture Out onto the Street

Get Me Out of Maceio

From Maceio to the Province of Bahia

The Bird Who Lived at Kalaluna Posada

A Day at the Beach in Trancoso

Facing the Future

Los Angeles to Brazil

I yearned to be reunited with the tropics and the temperate sea, so upon the recommendation of some Brazilian friends, I headed to Brazil. Relocation is never easy, and after two years on Decker School Road, I discarded, organized, and packed for travel. In the evenings under the twinkling stars, I stood on the deck outside my house and asked the good Lord for guidance and protection.

What should I bring for a week, a month, forever?  Summer dresses, bathing suit, sunhat, sweater, sarongs for sleeping, etc. Special foods and supplements, my glass pot, inspirational reading material, writing notes, a Portuguese dictionary, laptop computer, miniature keyboard, and my two mobility scooters for sure. Neighbor Silla gave me a handmade lavender eye pillow, my friend Alice gifted a child's keyboard to play melodies on, and Ryan, who drove me to the airport, a book on hope and faith.

It required an entire roll of tape to prepare my scooters for transport at Lan Airlines. The chatter of voices from a multitude of nationalities can always be heard at United, whereas nary a mouse stirred at this South American airline.

After a ride on a shuttle from the terminal to the plane, Hispanic Alfonso left me at the door in a wheelchair. I walked on to my seat which thankfully offered plenty of legroom in the first row of economy, plus four available seats to lie across and sleep. Personal television, audio games, maps in English or Spanish, and a plug for my laptop provided entertainment for the seven-hour flight from Los Angeles to Lima.

I practiced communication with the dark-skinned stewardesses since most of the people in Brazil wouldn't speak my native tongue. I came to find out once reaching the country, that people relished conversation with Americans in their limited English since it could open doors for opportunity. My background in Spanish and my Portuguese English dictionary became indispensable tools of rapport.

As the plane neared our first stop in Sao Paulo, I eagerly peered out the window at a sky that looked like there had been a nuclear bomb explosion. Leaving the protected shell of the plane, the airport reeked of diesel fumes and smog.

During the four-hour stop, I never left the terminal. There was no comparison to the aloha spirit and picture of health worn by kamaainas or local people in Hawaii when flying inter-island for so many years. Heads turned as two