Rio de Janeiro

...is so fabulous I did not take many pictures. And, yes, it is as wonderful as everyone says it is.

Coffee in three pictures

Because these express exactly how I caffeinate...

Home is where your heart is

Last week I made the long sojourn to the U.S. for Thanksgiving via São Paulo and Mexico City and finally to Mexicali where my folks picked me up.

It's funny because my home has always been in Wyoming in the same red house on the top of the hill on the north side of town. In my mind, it is a fixed, immutable space where I could imagine sitting at the kitchen table or counter drinking coffee in the morning, watching the occasional cow or horse approach the back fence, listening to birds chirp, or, very rarely, see a squirrel be chased up a tree by whichever lucky mutt was part of the family. The familiar. The routine. Memories stacking up one against another of the brown cabinets and sitting clad in robes to read the paper or watch the morning news. This is not romanticized. This is the fabric of the every day home to which I have returned from every corner of the earth. The richness of the fabric was not in its presentation but in its details, the little frog figurine that hung from the bar stool counter top, the mismash of coffee mugs in the cupboard, the treasures in the junk drawer under the counter, the grandfather clock chiming on the quarter hour, my dad's storage in the cabinetry above his space... I do not know if any of this is very important, and I wondered how I would feel about not returning to that home any more.

What is even funnier is that this time I returned "home" to a place that was not home. My parents' new place in Arizona is nothing like the split-level I grew up in. But, even situated in a retirement community underneath the flat, wide skies of the desert, it maintained the heart of a home. Some of the familiar pieces of childhood made their way south to this new location, even the grandfather clock. But, I am not sure that those things really matter. It felt like home because of the people who were in it. Resuming conversations, deepening relationships, retelling stories, and returning to family made it home. The dog racing after a ball, the turkey in the roaster, getting creamed at Scrabble by my mother, Dad "resting his eyes" in his chair after making lefse, and drinking coffee around the table in the morning. These are perhaps the pieces that make a place home and I enjoyed the return.

In the Neighborhood

The human mind is a miraculously curious organ, isn't it? Every single day on my drive to or from work I follow blindly the GPS through "Avenida das Jaqueiras." Severely mispronounced by a computer-automated English speaker, the street is part of my neighborhood. I can locate it and successfully navigate its dangerous roundabouts and even get gas or a car wash nearby. Without blinking, I know this street. What never occurred to me was to investigate the meaning of "jaqueiras." So much for curiosity. 

Last weekend, we were out with a friend and turned onto the famed "Avenida das Jaqueiras" when I noticed large fruits protruding from the trees along the route. Every tree had tons of spiky, enormous jack fruit protruding from its branches. Suspicious that every tree on the road seemed to be producing jack fruit. I said as much to our Brazilian friend, who replied, "of course, that is why it is called Jack Fruit Avenue."

Really, what could be more obvious to decode? 

Three days in Floripa

Work travel took me to southern Brazil to the city of Florianópolis. Most famous for its beaches during summertime vacations (in January-March), this "small" Brazilian city is located on an island and is home to almost 500,000. The identity of the city is shaped by the influence of Portuguese immigrants and traditions of fishing, and many view themselves as a small, under-served area of the country. They were quite flabbergasted upon learning that my entire home state is comprised of the same population!

The city is beautiful with fragrant bakeries lining cobblestone streets and a wonderful beachfront to stroll. I made it out several mornings before the workday to breathe the fresh air and enjoy the cool breeze. In the historic center we bumped into an impromptu concert and some beautiful old buildings. The city is progressive and has transformed itself into a tourism and technology hub.

In short, I was impressed and hope to make it back for a more leisurely exploration of the city!

Street Art on a Saturday Afternoon in São Paulo

Pigging Out at Casa do Porco

While visiting friends, we found ourselves in central São Paulo at one of the trendiest foody places in town, Casa do Porco. Yes, it is literally the house of pig. We had read about the restaurant in a NYTimes piece about the city, and our friends swore that the sometimes 2-4 hour wait was well worth it for this sinfully delicious experience. So, we went. We have no regrets. And now I am writing home about it.