Oi gente!

Back on the trip, so hopefully back on the blog...

I think this has all started rather well: I discovered that having my plane to Brazil canceled in Charolotte, NC is not that bad. I woke up the next morning to the rhythm of a fancy alarm clock at the Embassy Suites (?), stretched out in my super-comfy bed, took a little jog in the gym, checked my bag at the airport, and spent an informative day at the Levine museum of the New South. Then I ate some fried chicken with okra and candied yams at Morts. Yum! Coming back to the airport on the bus, I met a 85-year-old Colombian man who lives in Charlotte all by himself! He´s been there only four years, he´s estranged from his son´s because they are, or at some point were, living in sin with some women, his wife passed away decades ago, and he has no friends because he thinks all of the old people are racistas. And he was taking this bus to the airport to try and book a flight to Colombia, where he will collect his pension and then move again, maybe London or New York?

It was a funny little side-trip, but well worth it!

The flight to Brazil from Miami (somehow I got to Miami, too) was funny: by the time I got to this third airport, I had encountered a lot of displaced Brazilian travelers, and walking onto the airplane, to the last last row where I had been seated, was like walking through a beige, canned-air dream of friendship. That is to say I kinda knew a lot of people, and I felt super popular. I spent most of the flight drinking wine with the Brazilian guy to my left, the Floridian girl to my right, and the fat man who´s chair kept breaking in my lap ahead. And winking at the cute flight attendents. The moral of the story is: Boston may not be the friendliest city in the world, because ever since leaving the place I have had this feeling that we´re all supposed to be friends with each other.

And yes, I did arrive in RIO! I am here now, in fact. This city...It is really beautiful. Those mossy looking stones crumbling into the ocean are really there, mingling with mist and sun. The weather is coolish and bright: it is spring here. I went for a quiet walk in Botafoga, along the beaches, and enjoyed seeing the fishermen along the sea-wall, and the colorful old houses with stucco mouldings and big glass windows. Across the bay, the Jesus on the hill was spreading his arms open to the city, and in the water in front of me a little gold jesus/saint stood on a rock and pointed at a fish.

In Copacabana, the sidewalks are covered in famous wave mosaics, the cars honk, the buses spew grey smoke, and the men walk around in speedos. Ronaldo and Rafaela, some new friends, discussed the democratic nature of beach space as we sat there on the beach, watching volly-ball and ping-pong and brazilian bikins and watermellon sellers.

Last night, Rafaela from São Paulo and I went to a samba bar in a neighborhood called Lapa. The singers were from Samba schools, and they had full samba bands (Pandeiros and all!). The music is so wonderful! This is where it comes from!

I am happy to be here. I will make sure the stories get better!