Your cachaça destroyed my liver, your sun burnt my skin, your coconut sweets attacked my teeth and your mosquitos devoured what was left of me.
I can’t speak Spanish properly anymore… but I’ve mastered the art of Portengliñol.
I want a surfboard and my bikini seems strangely oversized. I’m carrying an excessive amount of cheap flip-flops with me; I could open a shop back in Europe. Not looking forward to go through customs in São Paulo.
I don’t think we’ve left any caipirinhas for the locals, and we probably didn’t impress them much with our samba skills.
My new favourite animal is this giant guinea pig that walks around the city like it’s normal to have A GIANT GUINEA PIG walking around the city.
I’ve replaced sleep with work, chats, parties, dances, ocean swims, and bowls of frozen acai. I’ve lost all sense of road safety – in fact, I’ve stopped thinking about speed limits, speed bumps, traffic lights, traffic jams.
I’ve stopped thinking.
I’ve been on a cool cat, a giant boat and a helicopter.
I’ve smiled and been smiled at, hugged and been hugged.
I’ve felt a knock in my stomach looking at the favelas – even though Chris kept saying they have nothing in common down here with the massive ones in Rio de Janeiro.
But 1,000km to the south, we found our own version of paradise between a marina, two beaches and three jungles.
I’ve locked the door of the pousada today. It was pouring down outside, the sky was low and the clouds were wrapping the hills in cotton threads. Maybe it was your way to see me off.
Brazil, you’ve been random, destabilising, intriguing.
You’ve been tropical, festive and generous, too.
You’ve been addictive. Até breve.