Back in Brazil

On February 1, 2011 as a winter storm raged through a large part of the United States, I wondered if I would actually be getting on a 5:30pm flight to Brazil. After a slushy walk through the streets of Williamsburg, Brooklyn with a large pack on my back and slippery borrowed boots on my feet, I knew it was time for me to say goodbye to the Northeast, USA. Of course Brooklyn has its charms (close friends being the biggest ones). I walked by a number of restaurants I’m pretty sure I’d be happy to eat at every day, and down in the lower levels of the subway a bluegrass trio entertained me as I waited for the train to Far Rockaway and JFK International Airport. Yet all the conveniences and charms of this city were not enough to combat what has been a miserable winter for New Yorkers and a sloshy five day visit for me.

Once I was checked in for my flight at the airport I noticed that 75% of the international flights had been canceled, although mine was not even delayed. Very lucky. Waiting in the boarding area for my flight to Sao Paulo I noticed that I was surrounded by people who look like me. I don’t ever feel like people in the USA don’t look like me, but that’s different than being surrounded by people who strikingly resemble you. It’s a little disconcerting. Anyway, it wasn’t until I passed through the gates and started onto the jet way, overhearing someone in accented English call out, “Goodbye New York,” that I felt a surge of excitement race through me. I’m going to Brazil. I’m MOVING to Brazil. Wow. It’s been such a long hard road to get there (literally and figuratively) that once I was at the airport I had forgotten to be excited. But hearing those words woke my system up and reminded me of the adventure I was starting.

Writing this blog post from the international airport in Sao Paulo where I have a 9 hour layover (after a 10 hour flight where I mercifully slept the whole way) I am taking pleasure in drinking a cafesinho (little coffee) and pastry. I’ve already been reminded that to tell a waitress I can’t eat frango (chicken) or carne (meat), doesn’t mean she won’t bring me a croissant with ham in it. But soon I will get the knack of ordering meatless dishes in a country that adores its meat products and work on adapting all my funny little habits to Brazilian life. Though I still feel like I left home behind to be here, I ‘m also excited to call Brazil home again soon.