São Paulo, 2004. We had finished spending a week in Rio, and returned to spend the night with a friend in Liberdad before trying to get home flying standby the next day. (This would become a three-day ordeal, and would include the staggering step of purchasing a same-day full fare ticket, which by luck we turned out not to need, though we were still out several hundred dollars for the return fee.)

After failing to get out the first day, we took the bus back to Liberdad. It was late by then, but it wasn't too far to our friend's flat (I think it was called a flat, but recall it was pronounced "fletch"). We started down the curvy streets. Soon after leaving the main road, it became eerily silent and we were the only people visible, except for the occasional sentry perched in the guardhouse of the invariably walled and gated apartment buildings.

We had all our luggage with us, and I pulled our Rollaboard down the middle of the deserted streets. The wheels on the rough pavement made an amazing amount of noise which echoed through the neighborhood. The noise sounded to me like the words "free camera" and "get your wallets and passports here" and "will not be missed except perhaps for ransom purposes."

We got thoroughly lost. If we had a cell phone back then we didn't have roaming agreements. Eventually we encountered a police car parked on the street and some cops milling around. I asked for directions back to the main road and then asked, in Spanish, if the neighborhood was safe. I am not sure what reassurance I hoped for, but in any case the only word of Portuguese I understood in reply was assassino as he gestured toward a nearby house.

We got back to the main road and in a taxi, and I told the driver about our encounter. He told us we were lucky the police didn't kill us.

Disclaimer: most of our time in Brazil was extremely pleasant and comfortable, and I've not encountered a more uniformly friendly population anywhere.