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”
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”
Before we left for Maceió, I was angry at Rio, and at Brazil, and at Portuguese, and at culture shock. I was just petulantly repeating “nothing works” for about three days in a row. >