JFK and Day 1: Santa Catarina

Me and Caio

            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.

Me and some of my Brazilero friends. I cut and dyed my hair fire orange (I change it a lot)

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.

At Guacamole

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).

Smoking in my Father's appartment

            Florianopolis, Airport

            I was a bit relieved to get off the plane.

Those were dangerous.

            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.