Every morning, I would get up at 7:00 am (which felt like 6:00… thanks time zones!), and go for a jog on the beach. I love running barefoot on the sand (even though I have those recommended athletic sneakers). When I felt like I couldn’t take a another breath, I rinsed my sandy feet off, slipped my shoes on and walked over to my favorite café in the city’s Centro. I would have a cappuccino and either pao com quejio (warm biscuit like bread with cheese) or, a pastry with some type of fruit filling.

            It was at this café, where I heard a few people speaking English (something of a rarity in Santa Catarina). I decided to introduce myself in Portuguese, which had a chorus of approval, and we started speaking English. We hung out the rest of the day, and they asked me if I was up to going to a night club. I, who am never one to turn dancing or drinking down, quickly agreed.

            The clubwear is quite different from what I’m accustomed to; in New York City, the dives I hang around are usually composed of hipsters, scenesters, and the like. The long product free hair, tight jeans and baby doll dresses aren’t as common. So, I jumped at the chance of playing dress up. I wore a bright-bold halter top dress with teetering bronze platforms and makeup (a glittery number). Both the women and men have European style: sort of the Diesel, glamorous, magazine cover looks about them.

            The music was a nice mix. Mostly, hip-hop and rap, which I love dancing to, then there was some rock like The Killers, Jet, fun stuff to shake your hair around to. The drinks were great and moderately priced (cheap for me… thanks Dollar to Real exchange rate!). Most Brazilians like beer (and man can they put it away). I’m more of a vodka and tequila girl, so I made my roots proud by slamming shots down at the bar and putting a few men to shame in a little, playful contest.

            It was a stifling New York summer day. The sky was heather gray and I couldn’t help thinking that it was going to rain. I had made the mistake of wearing a poly-blend dress and I could feel my skin sticking to the yellow cab’s brown leather seat. My driver was interesting enough. We started talking about food and how people in the United States are obsessed with dieting. I told him that I loved food, but I didn’t over do it on the portions. He told me he had a chocolate malt everyday since he was 13. I said,

“I’ve never had one of those.”

He said, “Then you haven’t lived.”

As the exit signs to JFK approached, I made a mental note to see if I could find a chocolate malt in one of the terminals. I paid him $60 ($10 of which was for the tip). Before checking two bulky suitcases in, I had to have one last cigarette. My next opportunity wouldn’t be until Sao Paulo.

Although my flight was scheduled to depart at 9:30 pm, at 6:30 there was already a coiled snaking file. To pass the time, I called a few friends and practiced Portuguese vocabulary. Around 8:15 pm, I was done with the exhaustive “passport and paperwork” process and I decided it was time to hunt down that chocolate malt. I didn’t have any luck in the Delta terminal, so I figured I would have one first thing when I came back (three months isn’t that long of a wait).

***

I love how airplanes have the digital maps of the plane’s altitude, ground speed, distance traveled, etc. It keeps me occupied for hours. I kept my camera out and as we descended I took pictures of the changing landscape. At about 3000 ft. everything looks like a patchwork quilt, or an earth-toned jigsaw puzzle.

Things I love about Brazil:

One thing I can appreciate about Brazil being a native New Yorker is their 24-hour pharmacies. There is nothing worse than having a head cold or hangover and not being able to purchase Advil.

Santa Catarina has some of the nicest cafes. They have a European look and menu to them, but they’re not as stifling. The waiters and waitresses are very friendly, and if you’re unsure as to what to try, they often bring over samples, or make suggestions (and if you’re not satisfied with your choice, they’ll just bring you something else- no fuss). I also like outdoor seating. It’s a nice option for smokers, who just want to have an afternoon espresso, read a few lines from the paper and enjoy a cig.

            Florianopolis, Airport

            I was a bit relieved to get off the plane. My legs were cramped and I needed some fresh air, not that stuff they pump into the plane that two hundred plus people inhale and exhale. The Florianopolis airport was not very large and the plane did not taxi to the terminal. Instead, stairs were brought over to the cabin doors and the passengers exited the plane and walked to the luggage terminal. I was anxious to grab my luggage and meet my father and step-mother. It had been over a year since I had seen them last. I was worried about my Portuguese’s steady deterioration, but somehow as soon as I started speaking, I found that all the anxiety was in vain, and that I hadn’t forgotten nearly as much as I had thought.

            The airport was small and it didn’t take me longer than five minutes to find my father. I called out, “Dad” and noticed my step mom mishear me and repeat, “Datch, Datch, Datch!” over and over again. It has sort of become a running joke. We piled to heavy pieces of luggage in my father’s Fiat and cruised down the highway to Santa Catarina.

            It was just like I had remembered it. It was a gray day with the sun sneaking out between the clouds every now and then. Teenagers were hanging out by the beach skateboarding and goofing around with their friends. My father asked me if I was hungry and I automatically replied, “Yes!” I’ve never been one for airplane food. I usually pass my tray along to the person sitting next to me, and enjoy the free wine on international flights instead. We decided to go to a Mexican restaurant called “Guacamole”. I do not like to waste a moment and forgot about my exhaustion as soon as I had a delicious steak quesadilla and some shots of Petron. It was a bit of drunken celebration, and I think my father and step mom were a little surprised by my alcoholic consumption.

            The year before, I had become inseparable with a few Brazilians in their twenties, who lived in my father’s building, and I inquired about Caio, a musician and Astrophysics major (a lethal combination), who was my “summer boyfriend” at the time. Unfortunately, they had moved to a city two hours South and because we were planning to leave for Istanbul in two weeks time, I was not able to pay them a visit despite their offers to play host.