The witch and the expired visa

Photo: huftingpost.com

We arrive in Chuy. A little town close to the border of Uruguay and Brazil. It has just as much charm as any other border town here in South America. But this one appeared to be a true mecca for tax free shopaholics. On every spare square meter, a shop was squeezed in. they were then filled up with useless stuff and the windows decorated with over the top advertising in Spanish and Portuguese.
 “Sorry sir, but do you maybe know where the buses to Brazil leave from?” I ask a man in a sports shop. “Oh, it`s just on the other side of the street sinora. Do you see that tall building over there? That is the bus terminal.” With a smile and a “gracias” I show him my gratitude and signal to Grant that we need to walk further.
 
In the main hall of the bus station there is a gigantic counter protected by jail bars. It quickly appeared that these jail bars were here to protect the customers against the bitchy sales women. A true killer-bee ready to sting. It became clear very quickly that she felt she was way too good for this job.

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