There are a few places that I’ve traveled to where I felt an immediate bond. The first time I went to Paris as a teenager, I remember standing on the Seine, in a very romantic and cliché manner, thinking, “I’ll be back.” And each time I’ve left Italy, I’ve kicked and whined all the way to the airport saying that I belonged there, I liked life better there, I wanted to stay. I almost did, after all. Continue reading “Coming to Paz”
Petrópolis, also known as the Imperial City, is about an hour and a half bus ride from Rio de Janeiro and is not to be confused with propolis, the throat spray, as I have a tendency to do. I also have a tendency to overreact to the prospect of sitting on a bus for over an hour, but in spite of the steady drive into the mountains, it wasn’t nearly as terrible as I expected. Continue reading “A Weekend in Petrópolis”
I went to see Paterson primarily because I’m homesick and I get a special type of enjoyment out of seeing NJ’s hills, changing leaves, and, sometimes crumbling, brick architecture in it’s larger, more Northern cities. Guffaw all you want at the statement, but New Jersey is beautiful. Plus, my father’s family is from Paterson, as is Allen Ginsberg, and I always liked that connection.
German architecture, changing autumn leaves, hot chocolate, Tibetan temples, and snow are rarely the images that come to mind when most people think of Brazil. But Gramado isn’t like anywhere else I’ve seen in Brazil.
Continue reading “Gramado, Brasil”