Greetings from Sao Paulo! I’m still at the airport, at a place called the Balloon Café that features an oddly Western soundtrack (“Fake Plastic Trees” by Radiohead, “Rocket Man” by Elton John), and awaiting a flight from Toronto. The idea of sleep is incredibly appealing to me right now; of course, as Small n’ Bald pointed out, I can sleep when I’m dead, and so I’m also sucking down strong (and, needless to say, black) Brazilian coffee in an attempt to counteract fatigue (I should also confess to having enjoyed hours of chemically-induced shuteye on the overnight flight from Houston). I have no idea how successful I’ll be, but it’s the thought that counts–right?
So: I’ve been on the road for 20 ½ hours. Little of note has occurred; I didn’t even listen to “If You Ever Go To Houston” while I was in Houston, nor did I photograph the horrific George H.W. Bush statue (my batteries had run out). Between Houston and San Paulo I was fortunate to sit next to a Brazilian named Lucas (no, not that Lucas) who did absolutely nothing to disabuse the notion that his are the friendliest people on earth. (I should also mention that yesterday marked the first time I’ve ever had my hands swabbed for trace explosives. Ah, U.S. Customs.) But I’m still surprisingly inside my comfort zone, still waiting for the real Brazil to show me its teeth. I’m equal parts nervous and excited for when that does eventually happen.