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”
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. >
It’s no secret that I love Rio. A lot. Probably more than what would be considered normal for someone who’s only been twice. I mean, it was the only place that could contend with Italy when I was planning to move overseas last year. And while Italy immediately felt like home from the first time I visited, my infatuation with Brazil likewise began on my first trip a year and a half ago.
Maybe the words to describe a visit to Brazil exist only in Portuguese because I have yet to find them. Continue reading “365 Photos – Brazil Style (35/52)”